IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


"^'■'•Wl  *«I*L 


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1.0 


I.I 


Hii^M    |2.5 
ui    m..    mil  2.0 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WBT  MAIN  STRUT 

WIBSTn,N.Y.  MStO 

(716)  t73-4S03 


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,- 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/iCMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
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reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


n 
n 


D 


D 
D 


n 


n 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommag6e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur6e  et/ou  peiliculde 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  docjments 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
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Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  ntay 
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mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  filmies. 

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une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagies 

□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur6es  et/ou  pellicul^es 


^/ 


n 


'h' 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  ddcolor^es,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 


I      I   Pages  detached/ 


Pages  ddtachdes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Qualiti  inigale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplimentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


r~\  Showthrough/ 

I      I  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 

I      I  Only  edition  available/ 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscuied  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellemer.t 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  palure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film^es  A  nouveau  de  fapon  t 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquA  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


aox 


>/ 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


Y**. 


h^Mmm 


e 

6tails 
s  du 
lodifier 
r  une 
Image 


The  copy  filmed  here  hae  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Scott  Library, 
York  University 
Toronto 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
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g^nirositi  de: 

Scott  Library, 
York  University 
Toronto 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  it6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  netteti  de  l'exempiaire  film6.  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  Illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exempieires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  filmte  en  commen^ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impresslon  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exempieires 
originaux  sont  fllmte  en  commandant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impresslon  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  pegc  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  lest  recorded  freme  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meening  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  sulvants  apparattra  sur  la 
derniire  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  ^»>  signifle  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifle  "FIN". 


Meps,  plates,  cherts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  retios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diegrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  certes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
fllmte  A  des  taux  de  rMuction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  fiimd  d  partir 
de  l''ingle  supirieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenent  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  ia  m6thode. 


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32X 


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2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

*>B 


■~.'.^--:  -^  - 


WINTER  STUDIES 


AND 


SUMMER    RAMBLES 


IN    CANADA, 


BY    MRS.    JAMESON, 


AUTHOR   OF 


CHARACTERISTICS    OF    WOMEN,"   "FEMALE   SOVEREIGNS.' 


Mi^,  unlr  Unust,  iints  Bcijtvi. 


Rakel, 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 


VOL.    I. 


NEW-YORK: 

WILEY  AND  PUTNAM,  161  BllOADWAY. 

1839. 


" 


a? 


'■A 


'1 


Printed  hy  AVilliani  <  )sborn, 
88  William-street. 


PREFACE. 


t 


In  venturing  to  place  beibre  the  public  these 
"  fragments"  of  a  journal  addressed  to  a  friend,  I 
cannot  but  feel  considerable  misgiving  as  to  the  re- 
ception such  a  work  is  likely  to  meet  Vi^ith,  particu- 
larly at  this  time,  vi^hen  the    country  to  which  it 
partly  refers  is  the  subject  of  so  much  difference  of 
opinion,  and  so  much  animosity  of  feeling.     This 
little  book,  the  mere  result  of  much  thoughtful  idle- 
ness and  many  an  idle  thought,  has  grown  up  in- 
sensibly out  of  an  accidental  promise.     It   never 
was  intended  to  go  before  the  world  in  its  present 
crude  and  desultory  form ;  and  I  am  too  sensible 
of  its  many  deficiencies,  not  to  feel  that  some  ex- 
planation is  due  to  that  public,  which  has  hitherto 
regarded  my  attempts  in  literature  with  so  much 
forbearance  and  kindness. 

While  in  Canada  I  was  thrown  into  scenes  and 
regions  hitherto  undescribed  by  any  traveller,  (for 
the  nortliern  shores  of  Lake  Huron  are  almost  new 
ground,)  and  into  relations  with  the  Indian  tribes, 


it 


rUEFACE. 


l 


such  as  few  European  women  of  refined  and  civi- 
lized habits  have  ever  risked,  and  none  have  re- 
corded. My  intention  was  to  have  given  the  result 
of  what  I  had  seen,  and  the  reflections  and  compari- 
sons excited  by  so  much  novel  experience,  in  quite 
a  different  form — and  one  less  obtrusive ;  but  owing 
to  the  intervention  of  various  circumstances,  and 
occupation  of  graver  import,  I  found  myself  re- 
duced to  the  alternative  of  either  publishing  the 
book  as  it  now  stands,  or  of  suppressing  it  altoge- 
ther. Neither  the  time  nor  the  attention  necessary 
to  remodel  the  whole  were  within  my  own  power. 
In  preparing  these  notes  for  the  press,  much  has 
been  omitted  of  a  personal  nature,  but  far  too  much 
of  such  irrelevant  matter  still  remains  j  far  too 
much  which  may  expose  me  to  misapprehension,  if 
not  even  to  severe  criticism ;  but  now,  as  hereto- 
fore, I  throw  myself  upon  "  the  merciful  construc- 
tion of  good  women,"  wishing  it  to  be  understood 
that  this  little  book,  such  as  it  is,  is  more  jjarticu- 
larly  addressed  to  my  own  sex.  I  would  fain  have 
extracted,  altogether,  the  impertinent  leaven  of  ego- 
tism which  necessarily  mixed  itself  up  with  the 
journal  form  of  writing;  but  in  making  the  attempt, 
the  whole  work  lost  its  original  character — lost  its 
air  of  reality,  lost  even  its  essential  truth,  and  what- 
ever it  might  possess  of  the  grace  of  ease  and  pic- 


f 


PREFACE, 


torical  animation  :  it  became  flat,  heavy,  didactic 
It  was  found  that  to  extract  the  tone  of  personal 
feeling,  on  which  the  whole  series  of  action  and 
observation  depended,  was  like  drawing  the  thread 
out  of  a  string  of  beads — the  chain  of  linked  tdeas 
and  experiences  fell  to  pieces,  and  became  a  mere 
unconnected,  incongruous  heap.  I  have  been 
obliged  to  leave  the  flimsy  thread  of  sentiment  to 
sustain  the  facts  and  observations  loosely  strung 
together;  feeling  strongly  to  what  it  may  expose 
me,  but  having  deliberately  chosen  the  alternative, 
prepared,  of  course,  to  endure  what  I  may  appear 
to  have  defied  ;  though,  in  truth,  defiance  and  assu- 
rance ai'e  both  far  ft-om  me. 

These  notes  were  written  in  Upper  Canada,  but 
it  will  be  seen  that  they  have  little  reference  to  the 
politics  or  statistics  of  that  unhappy  and  m* ^man- 
aged, but  most  magnificent  country.  Subsequently 
I  made  a  short  tour  through  Lower  Canada,,  just 
before  the  breaking  out  of  the  late  revolts.  Sir 
John  Colborne,  whose  mind  appeared  to  me  cast  in 
the  antique  mould  of  chivalrous  honor,  and  whom  I 
never  heard  mentioned  in  either  province  but  with 
respect  and  veneration,  was  then  occupied  in  pre- 
paring against  the  exigency  which  he  afterwards 
met  so  effectively.  I  saw  of  course  something  of 
the  state  of  feeling  on  both  sides,  but  not  enough 


f  I 


{ 


•^1^ 


VI 


PREFACE. 


to  venture  a  word  on  the  subject.  Upper  Canada 
appeared  to  me  loyal  in  sjiirit,  but  resentful  and 
repining  under  the  sense  of  injury,  and  suffering 
from  the  total  absence  of  all  sympathy  on  the  part 
of  the  English  government  with  the  condition,  the 
wants,  the  feelings,  the  capabilities  of  the  people 
and  country.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  this  want 
of  sympathy  now  exists  to  the  same  extent  as  for^ 
merly  ;  it  has  been  abruptly  and  painfully  awakened, 
but  it  has  too  long  existed.  In  climate,  in  soil,  in 
natural  productions  of  every  kind,  the  upper  pro- 
vince appeared  to  me  superior  to  the  lower  pro- 
vince, and  well  calculated  to  become  the  inexhausti- 
ble timber-yard  and  granary  of  the  mother  country. 
The  want  of  a  sea-port,  the  want  of  security  of  pro- 
perty, the  general  mismanagement  of  the  govern- 
ment lands — those  seemed  to  me  the  most  promi- 
nent causes  of  the  physical  depression  of  this 
sylendid  country,  while  the  poverty  and  deficient 
education  of  the  people,  and  a  plentiful  lack  of 
public  spirit  in  those  who  were  not  of  the  people, 
seemed  sufficiently  to  account  for  the  moral  depres- 
sion every  where  visible.  Add  a  system  of  mistakes 
and  mal-administration  not  chargeable  to  any  one 
individual,  or  any  one  measure,  but  to  the  whole 
tendency  of  our  colonial  government;  the  perpetual 
change  of  officials  and  change   of  measures ;  the 


I 


v3 


ifl 


^'t 


PREFACE. 


Vll 


J 


fluctuation  of  principles  destroying  all  public  confi- 
dence, and  a  degree  of  ignorance  relative  to  the 
country  itself,  not  credible  except  to  those  who  may 
have  visited  it ;  add  these  three  things  together,  the 
want  of  knowledge,  the  want  of  judgment,  the  want 
of  sympathy,  on  the  part  of  the  government,  how 
can  we  be  surprised  at  the  strangely  anomalous 
condition  of  the  governed  1 — that  of  a  land  abso- 
lutely teeming  with  the  richest  capabilities,  yet  poor 
in  population,  in  wealth,  and  in  energy  !    But  I  feel 
I  am  getting  beyond  my  depth.     Let  us  hope  that 
ilie  reign  of  our  young  Queen  will  not  begin,  like 
that  of  Maria  Theresa,  with  the  loss  of  one  of  her 
fairest  provinces  ;  and  that  hereafter  she  may  look 
upon  the  map  of  her  dominions  without  the  indig- 
nant blushes  and  tears  with  which  Maria  Theresa, 
to  the  last  moment  of  her  life,  contemplated  the 
map  of  her  dismembered  empire  and  regretted  her 
lost  Silesia. 

I  have  abstained  generally  from  politics  and  per- 
sonalities ;  from  the  former,  because  such  discus- 
sions are  foreign  to  my  turn  of  mind  and  above  my 
capacity,  and  from  the  latter  on  principle  ;  and  I 
wish  it  to  be  distinctly  understood,  that  whenever  I 
have  introduced  any  personal  details,  it  has  been 
with  the  express  sanction  of  those  most  interested  ; 
I  allude  particularly  to  the  account  of  Colonel  Tal- 


■'  I 


I  5 


VIU 


PREFACE. 


bot  and  the  family  at  the  Sault  Ste.  Marie.  For 
the  rest,  I  have  only  to  add,  that  on  no  subject  do  I 
wish  to  dictate  an  opinion,  or  assume  to  speak  as 
one  having  authority  ;  my  utmost  ambition  extends 
no  farther  than  to  suggest  matter  for  inquiry  and  re- 
flection. If  this  little  book  contain  mistakes,  they 
will  be  chastised  and  corrected,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
of  it :  if  it  contain  but  one  truth,  and  that  no  bigger 
than  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  it  will  not  have  been 
cast  into  the  world  in  vain,  nor  will  any  severity  of 
criticism  make  me,  in  such  a  case,  repent  of  having 
published  it,  even  in  its  present  undigested,  and,  I 
am  afraid,  unsatisfactory  form. 


^1     I 


CONTENTS 

OF    THE   FIRST    VOLUME, 


WINTER  STUDIES. 

I'oronto 

A  Winter  Journey 
Winter  Visits      . 
Sleighin* 

Visitor  Indians 

Winter  Miseries 

Clergy  Reserves 

T(.e  Tragedy  of  Corr«ggio 

German  Actresses 

HIcigh-journoy 

Niagara  i>i  Winter 

Trees  in  Canada 

Society  in  Toronto 

Politics  and  Parries 

J'ire  at  Toronto 

A  true  Story 

Goethe's  Tasso,  Ipl.igonia,  and  Clavigo 

A  Soldier  of  Fortune 

Music  and  Musicians 

Constitution  of  Upper  Canada 

Prorogation  of  the  House  of  Assembly 

Acts  of  the  Legislature  in  1837 

On  the  Female  Character 

Goethe  and  Ekermann 

Goethe'si  last  Love 

Guethe's  Table  Talk 

His  Ideas  on  the  Position  of  Women 


Page 

9 

13 

17 

2-2 

24 

2G 

28 

:J5 

41 
51 

63 
72 
7>J 
75 
KO 
83 
SH 
92 
08 
105 

loy 

113 
121 
124 
153 
13(1 
143 


I 


I 


CONTENTS. 


Crimir  il  Calendar  of  Toronto    . 

Grillparzer's  Sappho  and  Medea 

Lake  Ontario 

Return  of  Spring 

Village  of  the  Credit 

Erindale    .  .  .  . 


SUMMER  RAMBLES. 
The  Return  of  Summer 
Sternberg's  Novels 
Detached  Thoughts 
Mrs.  MacMurray 
Niagara  in  Summer 
Story  of  a  Slave    . 
The  Rapids' 
Schiller's  Don  Carlos 
A  Dream 

The  Niagara  District 
Buffalo      . 

Canadian  Stage  Coaches 
The  Emigrant 
Town  of  Hamilton 
Town  of  Brandtford 
Forest  Scenery 
Roads  in  Canada 
Blandfoid.— A  Sottler't;  Family 
A  Forest  Ciiiitcau 
The  Pine  Woods 
Miss  Martiiicau 
Town  nt"  London 
Women  in  Canada 
The  Taibot  Country 
Story  of  an  Emigrant  Doy 
Some  account  of  Colonel  Talbot 


Page 
179 
199 
203 
203 
206 
208 


219 

224 

235 

240 

243 

247 

253 

256 

265 

271 

272 

277 

278 

2fe4 

2,N7 

295 

29;) 

3!)0 

302 

310 

313 

315 

319 

3J5 

307 

.'j::5 


r 


1: 


h 


WINTER   STUDIES 

IN  CANADA. 

Sind  dcnn  die  Baume  auch  so  trostlos,  so  verzweiflungs  voll  in 
ihrem  Winter,  wie  das  Kerz  in  seiner  Veilassenheit? 

Bettine  v.  ATmim. 


Dec.  20tli, 
Toronto — such  is  now  the  sonorous  name  of  this 
our  sublime  capital — was,  thirty  years  ago,  a  wil- 
derness, the  haunt  of  the  bear  and  deer,  with  a  little, 
ugly,  inefficient  fort,  which,  however,  could  not  be 
more  ugly  or  inefficient  than  the  present  one.  Ten 
years  ago  Toronto  was  a  village,  with  one  brick 
house  and  four  or  five  hundred  inhabitants ;  five 
years  ago  it  became  a  city,  containing  about  five 
thousand  inhabitants,  and  then  bore  the  name  of 
Little  York  ;  now  it  is  Toronto,  with  an  increasing 
trade,  and  a  population  often  thousand  people.  So 
far  I  write  as  pci  book. 

What  Toronto  may  be  in  summer,  I  cannot  tell ; 
they  say  it  is  a  pretty  place.  At  present  its  appear- 
ance to  me,  a  stranger,  is  most  strangely  mean  and 
melancholy.  A  little  ill-built  town  on  low  land,  at 
the  bottom  of  a  frozen  bay,  with  one  very  ugly 
churnh,  without  tower  or  steeple  ;  some  government 
offices,  built  of  staring  red  brick,  in  the  most  taste- 
less, vulgar  style   imaginable;  three  feet  of  snow 


it 

i 


I 


u 

IS- 


m 


if. 


f  ; 


10 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


all  arouncl ;  and  the  gray,  sullen,  wintry  lake,  and 
the  dark  gloom  of  the  pine  forest  bounding  the  pros- 
pect ;  such  seems  Toronto  to  me  now.  I  did  not 
expect  much  ;  but  for  this  I  was  not  prepared. 
Perhaps  no  preparation  could  have  prepared  me,  or 
softened  my  present  feelings.  I  will  not  be  unjust 
if  I  can  help  it,  nor  querulous.  If  I  look  into  my 
own  heart,  I  find  that  it  is  regret  for  what  I  have 
left  and  lost — the  absent,  not  the  present — which 
throws  over  all  around  me  a  chill,  colder  than  that 
of  the  wintry  day — a  gloom,  deeper  than  that  of  the 
wintry  night. 

This  is  all  very  dismal,  very  weak,  perhaps;  but 
I  know  no  better  way  of  coming  at  the  truth,  than 
by  observing  and  recording  faithfully  the  impressions 
made  by  objects  and  characters  on  my  own  mind — 
or,  rather,  the  impress  they  receive  from  my  own 
mind — shadowed  by  the  clouds  which  pass  over  its 
horizon,  taking  each  tincture  of  its  varying  mood — 
until  they  emerge  into  light,  to  be  corrected,  or  at 
least  modified,  by  observation  and  comparison. 
Neither  do  I  know  any  better  way  than  this  of 
conveying  to  the  mind  of  another,  the  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  if  not  the  whole  truth.  So  1 
shall  write  on.  Hitherto  I  have  not  been  accused 
of  looking  on  the  things  of  this  world  through  a 
glass  darkly,  but  rather  of  a  contrary  tendency. 
"What  have  I  done  with  my  spectacles  coulcur  de 
rose? — the  cheerful  faith  which  sustained  me  through 
far  worse  than  any  thing  I  can  anticipate  here  ; — 
the  desire  to  know,  the  impatience  to  learn,  the 
quick  social  sympathies,  the  readiness  to  please  and 


TORONTO. 


11 


m 


to  be  please^l-  'ovived,  perhaps,  from  my  Irish 
blood,  and  to  \\!  I'Sh  I  have  owed  so  much  of  com- 
fort when  I  have  most  needed  it,  so  much  of  enjoy- 
ment when  least  I  could  have  hoped  for  it — what ! 
and  are  all  forgotten,  all  gone  ]  Yet  am  I  not  quite 
an  icicle,  nor  an  oyster — I  almost  wish  I  were  !  No, 
worst  of  all,  is  this  regretful  remembrance  of  friends 
who  loved  me,  this  heart-sick  longing  after  home, 
and  country,  and  all  familiar  things  and  dear  domes- 
tic faces  !  I  am  like  an  uprooted  t  ee,  dying  at  the 
core,  yet  with  a  strange  unreasonable  power  at 
times  of  mocking  at  ray  own  most  miserable  weak- 
ness. Going  to  bed  in  tears  last  night,  after  saying 
my  prayers  for  those  far  away  across  that  terrible 
Atlantic,  an  odd  remembrance  flashed  across  me  of 
that  Madame  de  Boufllers,  who  declared  "  avec 
tant  (Ic  slirieux  ct  de  scnt,imc?it,^^  that  she  would  con-  • 
sent  to  go  as  ambassadress  to  England,  only  on  the 
condition  of  taking  with  her  "  vhigt-cinq  ou  vingt- 
six  de  ses  amis  intimcs,''^  and  sixty  or  ciglity  persons 
who  were  cibmlumcnt  ner.c^saircs  d  son  honlicur.  The 
imago  of  graceful  impertinence  thus  conjured  up, 
made  me  smile — but  am  I  so  unlike  her  in  this  fie  of 
unreason?  Every  where  thero  is  occupation  for 
the  rational  and  liealthy  intellect,  every  where  good 
to  be  done,  duties  to  be  performed — every  where 
the  mind  is,  or  should  be,  its  own  world,  its  own 
countr}'^,  its  own  home  at  least.  How  many  fine 
things  I  could  say  or  quote,  in  prose  or  in  rhyme,  on 
this  subject !  IJut  in  vain  I  conjure  up  Philosophy, 
"  she  will  not  come  when  1  do  call  for  her ;"  but  in 
her  stead  come  thronging  sad  and  sorrowful  recol- 


'^*% 


u 


IS' 


\i 


^    t 


''i 


f  ■ ' 


i 


12 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


lections,  and  shivering  sensations,  all  telling  me  that 
I  am  a  stranger  among  strangers,  miserable  in- 
wardly and  outwardly — and  that  the  thermometer 
is  twelve  degrees  below  zero  ! 

There  is  much,  too,  in  first  impressions,  and  as 
yet  I  have  not  recovered  from  the  pain  and  annoy- 
ance of  ray  outset  here.  My  friends  at  New- York 
expended  much  eloquence — eloquence  wasted  in 
vain  ! — in  endeavourinnr  to  dissuade  me  from  a  win- 

O 

ter  journey  to  Canada.  I  listened,  and  was  grateful 
for  their  solicitude,  but  must  own  I  did  not  credit 
the  picture  they  drew  of  the  difficulties  and  desa- 
gremens  I  was  destined  to  meet  by  the  way.  I  had 
chosen,  they  said,  (Heaven  knows  1  did  not  choose 
it,)  the  very  worst  season  for  a  journey  through  the 
state  of  New- York ;  the  usual  facilities  for  travel- 
ling were  now  suspended  ;  a  few  weeks  sooner  the 
rivers  and  canals  had  been  open  ;  a  few  weeks  later 
the  roads,  smoothed  up  with  snow,  had  been  in 
sleighing  order ;  now,  the  navigation  was  frozen, 
and  the  roads  so  broken  up  as  to  be  nearly  impas- 
sable. Then  there  was  only  a  night  boat  on  the 
Hudson,  "  to  proceed,"  as  the  printed  paper  set 
forth,  "  to  Albany,  or  as  far  as  the  ice  permitted.''* 
All  this,  and  more,  were  represented  to  me — and 
with  so  much  apparent  reason  and  real  feeling,  and 
in  words  and  tones  so  difficult  to  resist !  Hut  though 
I  -^ould  appreciate  the  kindness  of  those  persuasive 
words,  they  brought  no  definite  idea  to  my  mind  ;  I 
could  form  no  nocion  of  difficulties  which  by  fair 
words,  presence  of  mind,  and  money  in  my  pocket, 
could   not  be  obviated.     I  had  travelled  half  over 


-  ■  T« 

I 


I 


^ 


A   WINTER   JOUnNEY. 


13 


the  continent  of  Europe,  often  alone,  and  had  never 
yet  been  in  circumstances  where  these  a^'^ailed  not. 
In  my  ignorance  I  could  conceive  none  j  but  I  would 
not  lightly  counsel  a  similar  journey  to  any  one — 
certainly  not  to  a  woman. 

As  we  ascended  the  Hudson  in  the  night,  I  lost, 
of  course,  the  view  of  that  supurb  scenery  which  I 
was  assured  even  winter  could  not  divest  of  all  its 
beauty — rather  clothed  it  in  a  different  kind  of  beau- 
ty. At  the  very  first  blush  of  morning,  I  escaped 
from  the  heated  cabin,  crowded  with  listless  women 
and  clamorous  children,  and  found  my  way  to  the 
deck.  I  was  surprised  by  a  spectacle  as  beautiful 
as  it  was  new  to  me.  The  Catskill  mountains 
which  we  had  left  behind  us  in  the  night,  were  still 
visible,  but  just  melting  from  the  view,  robed  in  a 
misty  purple  light,  while  our  magnificent  steamer — 
the  prow  armed  with  a  sharp  iron  sheath  for  the  pur- 
pose— was  crashing  its  way  through  solid  ice  four 
inches  thick,  which  seemed  to  close  behind  us  into  an 
adhesive  mass,  sothat  the  wake  of  the  vessel  was  not 
distinguished  a  few  yards  from  the  stern  :  yet  in  the 
path  thus  opened,  and  only  seemingly  closed,  follow- 
ed at  some  little  distance  a  beautiful  schooner  and  two 
smaller  steam-vessels.  I  walked  up  and  down,  from 
the  prow  to  the  stern,  refreshed  by  the  keen  frosty 
air,  and  the  excitement  caused  by  variouspicturesque 
effects,  on  the  ice-bound  river  and  the  frozen  shores, 
till  we  reached  Hudson.  Beyond  this  town  it  was 
not  safe  for  the  boat  to  advance,  and  we  were  still 
thirty  miles  below  Albany.  After  leaving  Hudson, 
(with  the  exception  of  the  rail-road  between  Albany 


V>Si».- 


^ 


1?  ■' 


'  i 


f 


If  .' 


14 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


and  Utica,)  it  was  all  heavy,  weary  work  ;  the  most 
painfully  fatiguing  journey  I  everremember.  Such 
were  the  roads,  that  wo  were  once  six  hours  going 
eleven  miles.  What  was  usually  a  day's  journey 
from  one  town,  or  one  good  inn  to  another,  occupied 
sometimes  a  day  and  a  night,  or  even  two  days. 

One  dark  night,  i  remember,  as  the  sleet  and  rain 
were  falling  fast  and  our  Extra  was  slowly  dragged 
by  wretched  brutes  of  horses  through  what  seemed 
to  me  "  sloughs  of  despond,"  some  package  ill 
stowed  on  the  roof,  which  in  the  American  stages 
presents  no  resting-place  either  for  man  or  box,  fell 
off.  The  driver  alighted  to  fish  it  out  of  the  mud. 
As  there  was  some  delay,  a  gentleman  seated  oppo- 
site to  me  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  to  in- 
quire the  cause  ;  to  whom  the  driver's  voice  replied, 
in  an  angry  tone,  "  I  say  you,  mister,  don't  you  sit  jab- 
bering there,  but  lend  a  hand  to  heave  these  things 
aboard!"  To  my  surprise,  the  gentleman  did  not 
appear  struck  by  the  insolence  of  this  summons,  but 
immediately  jumped  out  and  lent  his  assistance. 
This  is  merely  the  manner  of  the  people  ;  the  driver 
intended  no  insolence,  nor  was  it  taken  as  such,  and 
my  fellow-travellers  could  not  help  laughing  at  my 
surprise. 

After  six  days  and  three  nights  of  this  travelling, 
unrelieved  by  companionship,  or  interest  of  any 
kind,  T  began  to  sink  with  fatigue.  The  first  thing 
that  roused  me  was  our  arrival  at  the  ferry  of  the 
Niagara  rivor,  at  Queenston,  about  seven  miles 
below  the  Falls.  It  was  a  dark  night,  and  while 
our  little  boat  was  tossed  in  the  eddying  waters,  and 


m 


3 


l<i 


■I 
if 

m 


A    WINTER    JOURNEY. 


Iff 


guided  by  a  light  to  the  opposite  shore,  we  could 
distinctly  hear  the  deep  roar  of  the  cataract,  filling, 
and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  shaking  the  atmosphere 
around  us.  That  mighty  cataract,  the  dream  and 
vision  of  my  childhood  and  youth,  so  near — yet  un- 
seen— making  itself  thus  heard  and  felt — like  Job's 
vision,  consciously  present,  yet  unrevealed  and  un- 
discerned  !  You  may  believe  that  I  woke  up  very 
decidedly  from  mylethargy  of  weariness  to  listen  to 
that  mysterious  voice,  which  made  my  blood  pause 
and  thrill.  At  Queenston  we  slept,  and  proceeded 
next  morning  to  the  town  of  Niagara  on  the  shore  of 
Lake  Ontario.  Now,  as  we  had  heard,  the  naviga- 
tion on  the  lake  had  ceased,  and  we  looked  for 
nothing  better  than  a  further  journey  of  one  hun- 
dred miles  round  the  head  of  the  lake,  and  by  the 
most  execrable  roads,  instead  of  an  easy  passage  of 
thirty  miles  across  from  shore  to  shore.  But 
Fortune,  seized  with  one  of  those  freaks  which, 
when  we  meet  them  in  books,  we  pronounce  im- 
probable and  unnatural,  (and  she  has  played  me 
many  such,  some  good,  some  bad,)  had  ordered  mat- 
ters otherwise.  A  steam-vessel,  making  a  last  trip, 
had  called  accidentally  at  the  port,  and  was  just 
going  off;  the  paddles  were  actually  in  motiou  as  I 
and  my  baggage  together  were  hurried — almost 
jiung — on  board.  No  sooner  there,  than  I  threw 
myself  down  in  the  cabin  utterly  overvvhelmed  with 
fatigue,  and  sank  at  once  into  a  profound  and  dream- 
less sleep. 

How  long  I  slept  I  knew  not :  they  roused  me 
suddenly  to  teil  me  we  were  at  Toronto,  and,  not 


<»v 


16 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


' 


.      > 


f         <\ 


very  well  able  to  stand,  I  hurried  on  deck.  The 
wharf  was  utterly  deserted,  the  arrival  of  the  steam- 
boat being  accidental  a  id  unexpected  ;  and  as  I 
stepped  out  of  the  boat  I  sank  ankle-deep  into  mud 
and  ice.  The  day  was  intensely  cold  and  damp  ; 
the  sky  lowered  sulkily,  laden  with  snow,  which 
was  just  beginning  to  fall.  Half-blinded  by  the 
sleet  driven  into  my  face  and  the  tears  which  filled 
my  eyes,  I  walked  about  a  mile  through  a  quarter 
of  the  town  mean  in  appearance,  not  thickly  inha- 
bited, and  to  me,  as  yet,  an  unknown  wilderness  ; 
and  through  dreary,  miry  ways,  never  much  throng- 
ed, and  now,  by  reason  of  the  impending  snow- 
storm, nearly  solitary.  I  heard  no  voices,  no  quick 
foot-steps  of  men  or  children  ;  I  met  no  familiar  face, 
no  look  of  welcome.  I  was  sad  at  heart  as  a  woman 
could  be — and  these  were  the  impressions,  the 
feelings,  with  which  I  entered  tho  house  which  was 
to  be  called  my  home  / 

There  is  some  need — is  there  not? — that  I  allow 
time  for  these  sullen,  unkindly  influences  to  melt 
from  ray  mind  and  heart  before  I  judge  of  what  I 
behold  around  me.  The  house— only  a  temporary 
residence  while  another  is  building — is  ill  provided 
with  defences  against  the  cold,  and  altogether  com- 
fortless ;  it  has  the  advantage  of  commanding  one 
of  the  principal  roads  enteiing  the  town  and  a 
glimpse  of  the  bay — but  at  present  all  objects  wear 
one  hue.  Land  is  not  distinguishable  from  water. 
I  see  nothing  but  snovc^  heaped  up  against  my  win- 
dows, not  only  without  but  within  ;  I  hear  no  sound 
but  the  tinkling  of  sleigh-bells  and  tlie  occasional 


WINTER   VISITS. 


17 


lowing  of  a  poor  half-starved  cow,  that,  standing  up 
to  the  knees  in  a  snow-drift,  presents  herself  at  the 
door  of  a  wretched  little  shanty  opposite,  and  sup] 
plicates  for  her  small  modicum  of  hay. 


M 


Dec.  27. 

With  rei^ard  to  the  society,  I  can  as  yet  say 
nothing,  having  seen  not'.ing  of  it.  All  the  official 
gentlemen  have  called,  and  all  the  ladies  have  pro- 
perly and  politely  left  their  cards  :  so  yesterday,  in 
a  sleigh,  well  wrapped  up  in  furs  and  buffalo  robes, 
I  set  out  duly  to  return  these  visits.  I  learned 
something  of  the  geography  of  the  town — nothing 
of  the  people.  Those  whom  I  did  see,  looked  some- 
what formal  and  alarmed,  but  they  may  be  very  ex- 
cellent people  for  all  that.  I  returned  trembling 
and  shuddering,  chilled  outwardly  and  inwardly, 
for  none  of  my  fur  defences  prevailed  against  the 
frost  and  the  current  of  icy  air,  through  which  we 
glided,  or  rather  flew,  along  the  smooth  road. 

The  appearance  of  the  town  was  much  more 
cheerful  than  on  my  first  landing,  but  still  melan- 
choly enough.  There  was  little  movement  or  ani- 
mation ;  few  people  in  the  streets  ;  some  good  shops 
and  some  brick  houses,  but  the  greater  number  of 
wood.  The  very  different  appearance  of  the  town 
and  bay  in  the  summer  season,  the  blueness  of  the 
water,  the  brightness  of  the  verdure,  the  throng  of 
vessels,  the  busy  crowds  along  the  piers,  were  often 
described  to  me,  but  without  conveying  to  my  mind 
any  very  definite  or  cheering  picture.     The  very 


18 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


novelty  of  the  scene  before  me,  by  strongly  impres- 
sing my  imagination,  seemed  to  shut  out  all  power 
of  anticipation. 

The  clioice   of  this  site   for  the   capital    of  the 
Upper  Province  was  decided  by  the  fine  harbor,  the 
only  one  between  Burlington  Bay  and  Cobourg,  a 
distance  of  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles.     Ge- 
neral Simcoe,  the  first  governor  after  the  division  of 
the  two  provinces,  and  a  man  of  great  activity  and 
energy  of  character,  entertained  the  idea  of  founding 
a  metropolis.     At  that  time  the  head  quarters  of  the 
government  were  at  Niagara,  then  called  Newark, 
on  the  opposite  shore  ;  but  this   was  too  near  the 
frontiers  to   be   a  safe    position.     Nor  is  Toronto 
much  safer  :  from  its  low  situation,  and  the  want  of 
any  commanding  height  in  the  neighborhood,  it  is 
nearly  defenceless.  In  case  of  a  war  with  America,  a 
few  boats  sent  from  the  opposite  coast  of  New- York 
could  easily  lay  the  fort  and  town  in  ashes ;  and,  in 
fact,  during  the  last  war,  in  1813,  such  was  the  fate 
of  both.     But  the  same  reasons  which  rendered  the 
place  indefensible  to  us,  rendered  it  untenable  for 
the  enemy,  and  it  was  immediately  evacuated.     An- 
other objection  was,  and  is,  the  unhealthiness  of  its 
situation, — in  a  low  swamp  not  yet  wholly  drained, 
and  with  large  portions  of  uncleared  land  immedi- 
ately round  it :  still  the  beauty  and  safety  of  the 
spacious  harbor,  and  its  central  position  about  half- 
way between  Lake  Huron  and  the  frontier  line  of 
Lower  Canada,  have  fixed  its  rank  as  capital  of  the 
provioce  and  the  seat  of  the  legislature. 

When  the  engineer,  Bouchette,  was  sent  by  Ge- 


TORONTO. 


19 


I 


Ge- 


neral Simcoe  to  survey  the  site,  (in  1793,)  it  was  a 
mere  swamp,  a  tangled  wilderness  ;  the  birch,  the 
hemlock  and  the  tamarac-trees  were  growing  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  even  into  the  lake.     I  have 
been  told  that  Toronto,  the  Indian  appellation  of 
the  whole  district,  signifies  trees  groicing  out  of  loa- 
tcr.     Colonel  Bouchettc  says,  that  at  this  time  the 
only  vestige  of  humanity  for  a  hundred    miles  on 
every  side,  was  one  solitary  wigwam  on  the  shore, 
the  dwelling  of  a  few  Missassagua  Indians.     Three 
years  afterwards,  when  the  Due  de  Rochefoucauld 
was  here,  the  infant  metropolis  consisted  of  a  fort 
and  twelve   miserable  log  huts,  the  inhabitants  of 
which,  as  the  duke  tells  us,  bore  no  good  reputation. 
The  town  was,  however,  already   marked  out  in 
streets  running  parallel  with  the  shore  of  the  bay  for 
about  two   miles,  and   crossed  by   others   at  right 
angles.     It  is  a  pity  that  while  they  were  about  it, 
they  did  not  follow  the  example  of  the  Americans, 
in  such  cases,  and  make  the  principal  streets  of 
ample  width  ;  some  hundred  feet,  or  even  furlongs, 
more  or  less,  would   have  made  little   difference 
where  the  wild  unowned  forest  extended,  for  all 
they  knew,  from  the  lake  to  the  north  pole — nov), 
it  would  be  so  easy  to  amend    the  error.     King- 
street,  the  principal  street,  looks  narrow,  and  will 
look  narrower  when  the  houses  are  higher,  better, 
and  more  regularly  built.     1  perceive  that  in  laying 
out  the  fasldonahle  or  west-end  of  the  city,  they 
have   avoided  the  same   mistake.     A   wide  space 
between  the  building  lots  and  Lake  Ontario  has 
been  reserved  very  properly  as  a  road  or  esplanade, 


J 


M' 


20 


WINTER    STUDIKS. 


but  I  doubt  whether  even  this  be  wide  enough.  One 
of  the  most  curious  and  inexplicable  phenomena  con- 
nected with  these  immense  inland  seas  is  the  gra- 
dual rise  of  the  waters  ;  an  J  even  within  these  few 
years,  as  I  am  informed,  great  part  of  the  high  bank 
has  been  washed  away,  and  a  carriage-road  at  the 
foot  of  it  along  the  shore  has  been  wholly  covered. 
If  this  process  goes  on,  and  at  the  same  rate,  there 
must  be  a  solid  embankment,  or  quay,  raised  as  a 
barrier  against  the  encroaching  waters,  or  the  espla- 
nade itself  will  in  time  disappear. 

Thus  much  of  knowledge  I  gained  in  the  course 
of  my  cold  drive — bitter  cold  it  was  every  way,  and 
I  returned  without  being  much  comforted  or  edified 
by  my  visits. 


t. 


'\   .\' 


'    w 


New  Year's  Day — colder  than  ever.  This  morn- 
ing the  thermometer  stood  at  eighteen  degrees  be- 
low zero,  and  Dr.  R told  me  that  some  chemi- 
cal compounds  in  his  laboratory  had  frozen  in  the 
night,  and  burst  the  phials  in  which  they  were  con- 
tained. 

They  have  here  at  Toronto  the  custom  which  pre- 
vails in  France,  Germany,  the  United  States,  (more 
or  less  every  where,  I  believe,  but  in  England,)  of 
paying  visits  of  congratulation  on  the  first  day  of  the 
year.  This  custom,  which  does  not  apparently  har- 
monize with  the  manners  of  the  people,  has  been 
borrowed  from  the  French  inhabitants  of  Lower 
Canada. 

I  received  this  morning  about  thirty  gentlemen — 


—rr  cpy^-^iaa 


NEW    YEAR  S    DAY. 


21 


to  gentlemen  luckily  for  me  the  obligation  is  con- 
fined — two  thirds  of  whom  \  had  never  seen  nor 
iieard  of  before,  nor  was  there  uny  one  to  introduce 
rhtfm.  Some  of  them,  on  being  ushered  into  the 
room,  bowed,  sat  down,  ,  nd"  after  Uio  lapse  of  two 
minutes,  rose  and  bowed  themselves  out  of  the  room 
again  without  uttering  a  syllable;  all  were  too  much 
in  a  hurry  and  apparently  far  too  cold  to  converse. 
Those  who  did  speak,  complained,  sensibly  enough, 
of  the  unmeaning  duty  imposed  on  them,  and  the 
danger  incurred  by  running  in  and  out  from  the 
over-heated  rooms  into  the  fierce  biting  air,  and 
prophesied  to  themselves  and  others  sore  throats, 
and  agues,  and  fevers,  and  every  ill  that  Hesh  is  heir 
to.  I  could  but  believe  and  condole.  These  strange 
faces  appeared  and  disappeared  in  succession  so 
rapidly,  that  I  was  almost  giddy,  but  there  "were 
one  or  two  among  the  number,  whom  even  in  five 
minutes'  conversation  I  distinguished  at  once  as 
superior  to  the  rest,  and  original  minded,  thinking 
men. 

In  London  society  I  met  with  many  men  whose 
real  material  of  mind  it  was  difficult  to  discover — 
eithci"  they  had  been  smoothed  and  polished  down 
by  society,  or  education  had  overlaid  their  under- 
standing with  stuccoed  ornaments,  and  figures  his- 
torical and  poetical — very  pretty  to  look  at — but 
the  coarse  brick-work  or  the  rotten  lath  and  jdaster 
lay  underneath ;  there  being  in  this  new  country 
far  less  of  conventional  manner,  it  was  so  much  the 
easier  to  tell  at  once  the  brick  from  the  granite  and 
the  marble. 


• 


22 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


Jan.  12. 
"We  have  had  another  considerable  fall  of  snow, 
and  the  weather  is  milder.  They  say  here  that  the 
weather  never  remains  the  same  for  more  than  three 
days  together;  and  all  agree  that  the  atmospherical 
changes  are  violent  and  sudden  at  all  seasons.  Yet 
the  medical  men  assure  me  that  the  climate  of 
Canada,  take  it  altogether,  is  one  of  the  healthiest 
in  the  world,  though  the  immediate  vicinity  of  To- 
ronto be  for  the  present,  from  local  circumstances, 
an  exception.  The  winter  in  the  upper  province  is 
infinitely  less  severe  and  trying  than  the  same  sea- 
son in  Lower  Canada. 


■     ■  j; 


n.    '■  \ 


Jan.  14. 
It  should  seem  that  this  wintry  season,  which  ap- 
pears to  me  so  dismal,  is  for  the  Canadians  the  season 
of  festivity,  and  if  I  were  not  sick  and  a  stranger — 
if  I  had  friends  near  me,  I  should  really  enjoy  it. 
Now  is  the  time  for  visiting,  for  sleighing  excursions, 
for  all  intercourse  of  business  and  friendship,  for 
balls  in  town,  and  dances  in  farm-houses,  and  court- 
ships and  marriages,  and  prayer-meetings  and  assig- 
nations of  all  sorts.  In  summer,  the  heat  and  the 
mosquitos  render  travelling  disagreeable  at  best; 
in  spring  the  roads  are  absolutely  impassable  ;  in 
autumn  there  is  too  much  agricultural  occupation ; 
but  in  winter  the  forests  are  pervious ;  the  roads 
present  a  smooth  surface  of  dazzling  snow ;  the 
settlers  in  the  woods  drive  into  the  towns,  supply 
themselves  with  stores  and  clothing,  and  fresh  meat. 


SLEIGHING. 


23 


.m 


the  latter  a  luxury  which  they  can  seldom  obtain  in 
the  summer.  I  stood  at  my  window  to-day  watch- 
ing the  sleighs  as  they  glided  past.  They  are  of  all 
shapes  and  sizes.  A  few  of  the  carriage-sleighs  are 
well  appointed  and  handsome.  The  market-sleighs 
are  often  two  or  three  boards  nailed  together  in 
form  of  a  wooden  box  upon  runners ;  some  straw 
and  a  buffalo  skin  or  blanket  serve  for  the  seat ;  bar- 
rels of  flour  and  baskets  of  eggs  fill  up  the  empty 
space.  Others  are  like  cars,  and  others,  called  cut- 
f.C7's,  are  mounted  on  high  runners,  like  sleigh  phae- 
tons ;  these  are  sported  by  the  young  men  and  offi- 
cers of  the  garrison,  and  require  no  inconsiderable 
skill  in  driving;  however,  as  I  am  assured,  they  are 
overturned  in  the  snow  not  above  once  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  no  harm  and  much  mirth  ensues ; 
but  the  wood  sleighs  are  my  delight :  a  large  plat- 
form of  bonrds  is  raised  upon  runners,  with  a  few 
upriglit  poles  held  together  at  top  by  a  rope,  the 
logs  of  oak,  pine,  and  maple,  are  then  heaped  up  to 
the  height  of  six  or  seven  feet.  On  the  summit  lie 
a  couple  of  deer  frozen  stiff,  their  huge  antlers  pro- 
jecting in  a  most  picturesque  fashion,  and  on  these 
again,  a  man  is  seated  with  a  blanket  round  him,  his 
furred  cap  drawn  down  upon  his  cars,  and  his  scar- 
let woollen  comforter  forming  a  fine  bit  of  color. 
He  guides  with  a  pole  his  two  patient  oxen,  tho 
clouds  of  vapor  curling  from  their  nostrils  into  the 
keen  frosty  air — the  whole  machine,  in  short,  as 
wildly  picturesque  as  the  grape  wagons  in  Italy, 
though,  to  be  sure,  the  associations  are  somewhat 
different. 


W^f 


24 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


•■i 


'.  u   f. 


h    il 


Jan.  16. 

This  morning,  before  I  was  quite  dressed,  a  sin- 
gular visit  was  announced.  I  had  expressed  to  my 
friend  Mr.  Hepburne  a  wish  to  see  some  of  the  abo- 
rigines of  the  country ;  he  had  the  kindness  to  re- 
member my  request,  and  Colonel  Givins,  the  prin- 
cipal Indian  agent,  had  accordingly  brought  some 
Indians  to  visit  us.  Those  to  whom  the  appearance 
of  these  people  is  familiar  and  by  no  means  inte- 
resting, were  surprised  by  a  curiosity  which  you 
will  at  least  allow  was  very  natural  and  Jemi?iine. 

The  party  consisted  of  three — a  chief  named  the 
White  Deer,  and  two  of  his  friends.  The  chief 
wore  a  blanket  coat,  and  leggings,  and  a  blanket 
hood  with  a  peak  from  which  depended  a  long  black 
eagle  plume  ;  stout  mocazins  or  shoes  of  undressed 
deer-skin  completed  his  attire ;  he  had  about  fifty 
strings  of  blue  wampum  round  his  neck.  The  other 
two  were  similarly  dressed,  with  the  exception  of 
the  wampum  and  the  feathers.  Before  I  went  down 
I  had  thrown  a  chain  of  wampum  round  my  neck, 
which  seemed  to  please  them.  Chairs  being  pre- 
sented, they  sat  down  at  once,  (though,  as  Colonel 
Givins  said,  they  would  certainly  have  preferred  the 
floor,)  and  answered  with  a  grave  and  quiet  dignity 
the  compliments  and  questions  addressed  to  them. 
Their  deportment  was  taciturn  and  self-possessed, 
and  their  countenances  melancholy  ;  that  of  the  chief 
was  by  far  the  most  intelligent.  They  informed  me 
that  they  were  Chippewas  from  the  neighborhood 
of  Lake  Huron  ;  that  the  hunting  season  had  been 
unsuccessful ;  that  their  tribe  was  suffering  the  cx- 


'•i 


% 

i 


t  i  I 


VISITS    OF    INDIANS. 


26 


Jan.  16. 
ed,  a  sin- 
ed  to  my 
r  the  abo- 
ess  to  re- 
the  prin- 
jht  some 
pearance 
ans  inte- 
liich  you 
ninine. 
imed  the 
^he  chief 
I  blanket 
ng  black 
ndressed 
out  fifty 
he  other 
ption  of 
tntdown 
ly  neck, 
ing  pre- 

Colonel 

rred  the 
-  tlignity 
o  them, 
ssessed, 
he  chief 
mod  me 
^orhood 
id  been 

the  ex- 


■  ;iJ,' 


I 


'vx'emity  of  hunger  and  cold  ;  and  that  they  had  come 
to  beg  from  their  Great  Father  the  Governor  rations 
of  food,  and  a  supply  of  blankets  for  their  women 
an^  children.  They  had  walked  over  the  snow,  in 
their  snow-shoes,  from  the  lake,  one  hundred  and 
eighty  miles,  and  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours  none 
of  them  had  tasted  food.  A  breakfast  of  cold  meat, 
bread,  and  beer,  was  immediately  ordered  for  them; 
and  though  they  had  certainly  never  beheld  In  their 
lives  the  arrangement  of  an  European  table,  and 
were  besides  half  famished,  they  sat  down  with  un- 
embarrassed tranquillity,  and  helped  themselves  to 
what  they  wished,  with  the  utmost  propriety — only, 
after  one  or  two  trials,  using  their  own  knives  and 
fingers  in  preference  to  the  table  knife  and  fork. 
After  they  had  eaten  and  drunk  sufficiently,  they 
%vere  conducted  to  the  government-house  to  receive 
from  the  governor  presents  of  blankets,  rifles,  and 
provisions,  and  each,  on  parting,  held  out  his  hand 
to  me,  and  the  chief,  with  a  grave  earnestness, 
prayed  for  the  blessing  of  the  Great  Spirit  on  me 
and  my  house,  '^'^  the  whole,  the  impression  they 
left,  though  amusing  and  exciting  from  its  mere 
novelty,  was  melancholy.  The  sort  of  desperate  re- 
signation in  their  swarthy  countenances,  their  squa- 
lid, dingy  habiliments,  and  their  forlorn  story,  filled 
me  with  pity,  and,  I  may  add,  disappointment;  and 
all  my  previous  impressions  of  the  independent 
children  of  the  forest  are  for  the  present  disturbed. 

These  are  the  first  specimens  I  have  seen  of  that 
fated  race,  with  which  I  hope  to  become  better  ac~ 
<juaintcd   before   I   leave  the  country.      Notwith- 

VOL.  I.  3 


k 


?f 


m    >\ 


|i: 


t\ 


V 


f  I 


1/ 


t  J 


26 


WLNTEll    STUDIES, 


stai)(ling  all  I  have  heard  anr]  read,  I  have  yet  hut 
a  vague  idea  of  the  Indian  character;  and  the  very 
different  aspect  under  which  it  has  been  represented 
by  various  travellers,  as  well  as  writers  of  fiction, 
adds  to  the  difficulty  of  forming  a  correct  estimate 
of  the  people,  and  more  particularly  of  the  true 
position  of  their  women.  Colonel  Givins,  who  has 
passed  thirty  years  of  his  life  among  the  north- 
west tribes,  till  he  has  become  in  habits  and  lan- 
guage almost  identified  with  them,  is  hardly  an  im- 
partial judge.  He  was  their  interpreter  on  this 
occasion,  and  he  says  that  there  is  as  much  differ- 
ence between  the  customs  and  language  of  differ- 
ent nations,  the  Chippewas  and  Mohawks,  for  in- 
stance, as  there  is  between  any  two  nations  of 
Europe. 


^3 


r 


I 


'I 


January  IG. 
Some  philosopher  has  said  or  writteti,  that  our 
good  and  bad  qualities,  our  virtues  and  our  vices, 
depend  more  on  the  influence  of  climate,  than 
the  pride  of  civilized  humanity  would  be  willing  to 
allow;  and  this  is  a  truth  or  truism,  which  for  my 
own  part  I  cannot  gainsay — yet  which  I  do  not  much 
like  to  believe.  Whatever  may  be  the  climate  in 
which  the  human  being  is  born  or  reared,  can  he 
not  always  by  moral  strength  raise  himself  above 
its  degrading,  or  benumbing,  or  exciting  influence  1 
and  yet  more,  rather  than  less,  easily,  when, 
at  a  mature  age  and  with  habits  formed,  he  is 
subjected     accidentally    to    such    influences  ]     L~ 


1 


■■«._, 


WINTER    MISERIES 


27 


e  yet  but 
3  the  very 
presented 
of  fiction, 
:  estimate 
the  true 
,  who  has 
he  noith- 
i  and  lan- 
Hy  an  im- 
r  on  this 
ch  difFer- 
of  differ- 
;s,  for  in- 
ations   of 


lunry  16, 
that  our 
ur  vices, 
to,  than 
rillinnr  to 
for  my 
lot  much 
imate  in 
,  can  ho 
If  a  hove 
luence  1 
when, 
1,  he  is 
es  1     Ir 


there  most  wisdom,  in  such  a  case,  in  passively 
assimilating  ourselves,  our  habits,  and  our  feelings, 
to  external  circumstances,  or  resisting  and  combat- 
ing them,  rather  to  defend  the  integrity  of  our  own 
individual  being,  than  with  the  hope  of  changing  or 
controlling  the  physical  or  social  influences  around 


us 


How  I  might  have  settled  this  question  with  my- 
self, long  ago,  when  in  possession  of  the  health  and 
energy  and  trusting  spirit  of  my  young  years,  I 
know — but  now  it  is  too  late.  I  could  almost  wish 
myself  a  dormouse,  or  a  she-bear,  to  sleep  away  the 
rest  of  this  cold,  cold  winter,  and  wake  only  with 
the  first  green  leaves,  the  first  warm  breath  of  the 
summer  wind.  I  shiver  through  the  day  and 
through  the  night;  and,  like  poor  Harry  Gill,  "my 
teeth  they  chatter,  chatter  still ;"  and  then  at  inter- 
vals I  am  burned  up  with  a  dry  hot  fever:  this  is 
what  my  maid,  a  good  little  Oxfordshire  girl,  calls 
the  liager,  (the  ague,)  more  properly  the  lake  fever, 
or  cold,  fever.  From  the  particular  situation  of 
Toronto,  the  disorder  is  very  prevalent  here  in  the 
spring :  being  a  stranger,  and  not  yet  acclimatce,  it 
has  attacked  me  thus  unseasonably.  Bark  is  the 
general  and  unfailing  remedy. 

The  cold  is  at  this  time  so  intense,  that  the  ink 
freezes  vv^hile  I  write,  and  my  fingers  stiffen  round 
the  pen  ;  a  glass  of  water  by  my  bed-side,  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  hearth,  (heaped  with  logs  of  oak  and 
maple  kept  burning  all  night  long,)  is  a  solid  mass  of 
ice  in  the  morning.  God  help  the  poor  emigrants 
who  are  yet  unprepared  against  the  rigor  of  the 


#« 


ii 


28 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


season  ! — yet  this  is  nothing  to  the  climate  of  the 
lower  province,  where,  as  we  hear,  the  thermome- 
ter has  jeen  thirty  degrees  below  zero.  I  lose  all 
heart  to  write  home,  or  to  register  a  reflection  or  a 
feeling; — thought  stagnates  in  my  head  as  the  ink 
in  my  pen — ar>d  this  will  neve)  do! — I  must  rouse 
myself  to  occupation  ;  and  if  I  cannot  find  it  with- 
out, I  must  create  it  from  within.  There  are  yet 
four  months  of  winter  and  leisure  to  be  disposed 
of.  How  ? — I  know  not  j  but  they  must  be  env- 
ployed,  not  wholly  lost. 


t 


Wi 


^!l 


'i' 


The  House  of  Assembly  is  now  sitting,  and  the 
question  at  present  agitated  is  the  appropriation  o€ 
the  clergy  reserves — a  question  momentous  to  the 
future  welfare  of  the  colony,  and  interesting  to 
every  thinking  mind.  There  are  great  differences 
of  opinion,  and  a  good  deal  of  bitterness  of  spirit^ 
prevailing  on  this  subject,  so  often  brought  under 
discussion,  and  as  yet  unsettled.  When  Upper 
Canada  was  separated  from  the  Lower  Province  (in 
1791)  one-seventh  part  of  the  lands  was  set  apart 
for  the  maintenance  of  the  clergy,  under  the  name 
of  Clergy  Reserves;  and  the  Church  of  England, 
as  being  the  church  by  law  established,  claimed  the 
entire  appropriation  of  these  lands.  The  Roman 
Catholics,  under  the  old  conditions  by  which  the 
maintenance  of  their  church  was  provided  for  on 
the  conquest  of  the  colony,  also  put  in  their  claim, 
as  did  the  Presbyterians  on  account  of  their  influ- 
ence, and  the  Methodists  on  account  of  their  nunc- 


I 


-f^" 


te  of  the 
lermome- 
I  lose  all 
[?tion  or  a 
s  the  ink 
\ust  rouse 
d  it  vvith- 
3  are  yet 
disposed 
t  be  env- 


CLERGY    RESERVES. 


29 


an<l  the 
iation  of 
JH  to  the- 

sting  to 
iferences 
of  spirit^ 
It  under 
n  Upper 
)vince(iii 
set  apart 
he  name 
England, 
imed  the 
Roman 
'hich  the 
d  for  on 

ir  claim, 
eir  influ- 
jir  nuic- 


■:| 


|- 


ber.  The  inhabitants,  mean  time,  through  the  legis- 
lature, petitioned  the  government  that  the  whole  of 
the  clergy  reserves  should  be  appropriated  to  the 
purposes  of  education,  for  which  the  funds  already 
provided  are  wholly  inadequate,  and  are  ill  managed 
besides — but  of  this  hereafter.  If  the  question  had 
been  left  to  be  settled  by  tl.e  House  of  Assembly 
then  sitting,  the  Rndicals  of  1S32,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  such  would  have  been  the  destination  of  these 
reserves,  which  now  consist  of  about  two  millions 
of  acres  out  of  fourteen  millions,  settled  or  in  course 
of  cultivation,  and  indefinitely  increasing  as  more 
and  more  land  is  redeemed  from  the  unmeasured, 
interminable  forest.  The  government  at  home  sent 
over  to  the  legislatuie  here  a  cession  of  the  crown 
lands,  and  a  recommendation  to  settle  the  whole 
question  ;  but  we  have  now  a  House  of  Assembly 
differently  constituted  from  that  of  1S32,  and  the 
preponderance  is  altogether  the  other  way.  I  am 
now  aware  that  there  exist  three  parties  on  this 
subject  .• 

First,  those  who  would  appropriate  the  whole  of 
these  reserves  solely  to  the  maintenance  of  tho 
Church  of  England.  This  is  a  small  but  zealous 
party — not  so  much  insisting  on  their  own  claim,  as 
on  the  absolute  inconsistency  and  unrighteousness 
of  allowing  any  other  claim.  The  Church  of  Eng- 
land, as  the  archdeacon  observed  last  night,  being 
the  only  true  church,  as  well  as  the  church  by  law 
established,  to  maintain  any  other  religion  or  form 
of  religion,  at  the  expense  of  the  state,  is  a  manifest 
rebellion  against  both  the  gonjicl  diXiA  the  law. 


>4Mii 


-..> 


i>- 


1(1, 


30 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


A  second  party  represent  that  the  Church  oi' 
England  consists  of  but  a  small  number  of  the  colo- 
nists ;  that  as  no  p:  ofession  of  belief  (Quakerisn; 
excepted)  can  exclude  a  man  from  the  provincial 
legislature,  so  each  religion  tolerated  by  the  state 
should  be  by  the  state  maintained.  They  exclaim 
against  disuniting  religion  and  education,  and  insist 
that  the  reserves  should  be  divided  in  shares  pro- 
portionate to  the  number  of  members  o^eacii  church 
— among  the  Episcopalians,  Presbyterians,  Roman 
Catholics,  Wesleyan  Methodists,  and  Baptists.  This 
party  is  numerous,  but  not  unanimous.  In  hostility 
to  the  exclusive  pretensions  of  the  cpiscojval  church 
they  are  agreed,  but  they  seem  to  agree  in  nothing 
else  ;  and  some  numerous  and  respectable  sects  arc 
altogether  excluded. 

A  third  party,  and  by  far  the  most  numerous,  re- 
quire that  the  maintenance  of  the  clergy  should  be 
left,  as  in  the  United  States,  to  the  voluntary  aid  of 
their  congregation,  p^^d  the  entire  produce  of  the 
lands  reseivcd  for  the  education  of  the  people. 

I  have  not  been  long  enough  in  the  country  to 
consider  the  question  practically,  as  applying  to  the 
peculiar  wants  and  circumstances  of  the  people; 
but  theoretically  I  do  not  agree  with  any  of  these 
parties,  and  at  present  am  content  to  listen  to  all  I 
hear  around  me.  With  regard  to  the  petition  for- 
warded to  the  home  government.  It  has  been  an 
ample  source  of  ridicule  that  a  house  of  parliament, 
of  which  many  members  could  not  read,  and  many 
more  could  not  spell,  should  be  thus  zealous  on  the 
Bubject  of  education.     In  truth,  I  have  seen  some 


CLERGY    RESERVES. 


31 


Jhurcli  ol 
r  the  colo- 
tuakerism 
provincial 
•  the  state 
f  exclaim 
antl  insist 
lares  pro- 
icli  church 
s,  Roman 
ists.  This 
1  hostility 
vdl  church 
n  nothing 
3  sects  are 

3rous,  re- 
iliould  be 
iry  aid  of 
CO  of  the 

pie. 

3untry  to 
ing  to  the 

})eople ; 

of  these 
1  to  all  I 
tition  for- 

been  an 

rliament, 
nd  many 
18  on  the 
;en  some 


specimens  of  the  writing  and  spelling  of  honorable 
members,  men  of  influence  and  property  too,  at 
which  it  was  impossible  not  to  laugh  ;  but  I  felt  no 
disposition  to  join  in  the  ridicule  freely  bestowed 
on  the  writers  :  it  seemed  arsy  thing  but  ridiculous, 
that  men  who  had  not  themselves  received  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  good  education,  should  be  anxious  to 
insure  it  to  their  children.  Mr.  H.  told  me  the 
other  day,  that  in  the  distant  townships  not  one  per- 
son in  twenty  or  thirty  could  read  or  write,  or  had 
the  means  of  attaining  such  knowledge.  On  re- 
peating this  to  Mr.  B.,  a  native  Canadian,  and  per- 
fectly acquainted  with  the  country,  adding  some  ex- 
pression of  incredulity,  he  exclaimed,  laughing, 
•'  Not  one  in  twenty  or  thirty  ! — Madam,  not  one  in 
seventy !" 

The  question,  as  a  mere  party  question,  did  not 
interest  me  ;  but  the  strange,  crude,  ignorant,  vague 
opinions  I  heard  in  conversation,  and  road  in  the 
debates  and  the  provincial  papers,  excited  my  asto- 
nishment. It  struck  me  that  if  1  could  get  tho 
English  preface  to  Victor  Cousin's  report  (of  which 
I  had  a  copy)  printed  in  a  chcc^p  form,  and  circu- 
lated with  tlie  newspapers,  adding  some  of  the 
statistical  calculations,  and  some  passages  from 
Duppa's  i-epoit  on  the  education  of  the  children  of 
the  poorer  classes,  it  might  do  some  good — it  might 
assist  the  people  to  some  general  principles  on 
which  to  form  opinions  ;  whereas  they  all  appeared 
to  me  astray ,  nothing  that  had  been  promulgated 
in  Europe  on  this  momentous  subjects  had  yet 
reached  them  ;  and  the  brevity   and  clearness  of 


ds* 


\  r 


'** 


w 


3S 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


this  little  preface,  which  exhibits  the  importance  of 
a  system  of  national  education,  and  some  general 
truths  without  admixture  of  any  political  or  sectarian 
bias,  would,  I  thought — 1  hoped — obtain  for  it  a 
favorable  reception.  But,  no ;  cold  water  was 
thrown  upon  me  from  every  side — my  interference 
in  any  way  was  so  visibly  distasteful,  that  I  gave  my 
project  up  witli  many  a  sigh,  and  1  am  afraid  I  shall 
always  regret  this.  True,  1  am  yet  a  stranger — 
helpless  as  ^o  means,  an(}Ji'clhig  my  way  in  a  social 
system  of  which  I  know  little  or  nothing;  perhaps 
1  might  have  done  more  mischief  than  good — who 
knows?  and  truth  is  sure  to  prevail  at  last ;  but 
truth  seems  to  find  so  much  difficulty  in  crossing 
the  Atlantic,  that  one  would  think  she  was  "  like 
the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage,"  afraid  of  wetting  her 
feet. 


Another  fit  of  illness  and  fever  of  four  days' 
duration  happily  over  ;  but  it  has  left  me  more 
good-for-nothing  than  ever — more  dejected  and 
weak. 

Mr.  Campbell,  the  clerk  of  the  assize,  has  politely 
offered  to  drive  me  over  to  Niagara  in  his  sleigh. 
Good-natured  Mr.  Campbell !  1  never  saw  the  man 
in  my  life  ;  but,  in  the  excess  of  my  gratitude,  am 
ready  to  believe  him  every  thing  that  is  delightful  ; 
my  heart  was  dying  within  me,  gasping  and  panting 
for  change  of  some  kind — any  kind!  I  suppose 
from   the  same  sort   of   instinct  which  sends    the 


I 
I 


■% 


WINTER    MISERIES. 


33 


tance  of 
general 
iectarian 
for  it  a 
ter  was 
rfereiicc 
gave  my 
d  I  shall 
•anger — 
I  a  social 
perhaps 
>cl — who 
ast ;  but 
crossing 
IS  "like 
ting  her 


wounded  animal  into  the  forest  to  seek  for  the  herb 
which  shall  heal  him.  For  here  is  Dr.  II.,  who  as- 
sures me  that  change  of  air  is  the  only  tiling  which 
can  counteract  the  effect  of  these  successive  fits  of 
aguish  fever  :  so  it  is  fixed  that  on  Tuesday  next, 
at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  shall  be  ready  to 
step  into  Mr.  Campbell's  sleigh.  Five  days — five 
times  twenty-four  hours  of  frost  and  snow  without, 
and  monotonous  solitude  within — and  my  faculties, 
and  my  fingers,  and  my  ink,  all  frozen  up  ! 

"  So  slow  the  unprofitable  moments  roll, 
That  lock  up  all  the  functions  of  my  soul, 
That  keep  me  from  myself." 

Slow  ] — yes  ;  but  why  unprofitable  ]  that  were 
surely  my  own  fault ! 


ir  day  J*' 
le  more 
:ed    and 

politely 
s  sleigh, 
the  man 
ide,  am 
ightful  ; 
panting 
suppose 
ids    iho 


January  21, 
There  is   some  diminution  of  the  intense  cold 
yesterday  and  to-day.     The  thermometer  is  above 
zero. 

I  begin  to  be  ashamed  of  recording  idle  days  and 
useless  days,  and  to  have  a  conception  of  what  those 
unfortunate  wretches  must  suffer,  who  are  habitually 
without  an  interest  and  without  an  occupation. 
What  a  life  is  this ! 

"  Life  which  the  very  stars  reprove, 
As  on  their  silent  tasks  they  move." 

To  me  it  is  something  new,  for  I  have  never  yet 


^f 


?. 


I  J 


:,! 


!1 


ii 


1! 


i 


'.1 


34 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


been  cnmn/ic  to  (loifh — except  in  ficlion.  It  is  like 
tlie  old-fashionctl  torture  patronized  by  that  amiable 
person,  Queen  i'^lizabetb,  when  a  ccrfain  weight 
was  placed  on  the  l)o.som  of  the  criminal,  and  in- 
creased gradually  every  day  till  the  life  and  the 
heart  were  crushed  together.  Well  !  patience  and 
resignation  are  still  at  hand  : — but  Paticrjco,  "  the 
young  and  rose-lipped  cherubim,"  seems  to  have 
borrowed  the  features  of  grim  Necessity,  and,  in- 
stead of  singing  an  angel's  song,  clanks  her  fetters 
in  my  ear;  and  Resignation  comes  in  a  form  which 
reminds  me  of  Ottilie's  definition—"  Resignation, 
my  dear,  is  only  a  despair,  which  does  not  beat 
people."  Yet  there  remains  Duty,  which  is,  far 
more  than  Love — 

.     .     "  The  star  to  ei'ery  wandering  bark. 
That  looks  on  tempests,  and  is  never  shaken." 

It  is  the  upholding  law  through  which  the  weakest 
become  strong,  without  which  all  strength  is  unsta- 
ble as  water.  No  character,  however  harmoniously 
framed  and  gloriously  gifted,  can  be  complete  with- 
out this  abiding  principle  ;  it  is  the  cement  which 
binds  the  whole  moral  edifice  together,  without  which 
all  power,  goodness,  intellect,  truth,  happiness,  love 
itself,  can  have  no  permanence  ;  but  all  the  fabric  of 
existence  crumbles  away  from  under  us,  and  leaves 
us  at  last  sitting  in  the  midst  of  a  ruin — astonished 
Qt  our  own  desolation. 


% 


TRAOKDY    OP    CORREfiOlO. 


S5 


It  is  like 
it  amiublo 
n  weight 
1,  and  iti- 
!  and  the 
icnce  and 
ice,  "  the 
}  to  have 
,  and,  in- 
er  fetters 
rm  which 
signation, 

not  beat 
ch  is,  far 


3n." 

f  weakest 
is  unsta- 
loniously 
ete  with- 
nt  which 
)ut  which 
less,  love 
fabric  of 
id  leaves 
itonishcd 


January  21—22. 

While  ranging  my  German  books  this  morning,  I 
toll  upon  the  Coirogglo  of  Ochlcnschlager,  and  Die 
Sciiuld  of  iMiillnor  ;  and  I  read  both  tlirough  care- 
t'ully.  The  former  pleased  me  more,  the  latter  struck 
me  less,  than  uhru  I  read  them  both  for  the  first 
time  a  year  ago. 

One  despairsofnothingslnce  the  success  of  "Ion;" 
but  would  it  be  possible,  thiidf  you,  that  the  tragedy 
of"  Curreggii)"  could  be  exhibited  in  England  with 
anything  like  the  success  it  met  with  in  Germany  1 
Here — in  England  I  mean — it  might  indeed  '^Jil 
audience  find,  though  /It,"  but  would  it  meet  with 
the  same  sympathy  ? — would  it  even  be  endured 
with  common  patience  by  a  mixed  audience — such 
as  hailed  its  appearance  in  Germany  1 

Here  is  a  tragedy,  of  which  the  pervading  in- 
terest is  not  low  ambition  and  the  pride  of  kings  ; 
nor  love,  nor  terror,  nor  murder,  nor  the  rivalship  of 
pi'inccs,  nor  tne  fall  of  dynasties,  nor  any  oi  the 
usual  forms  of  tragic  incident — but  art,  high  art  — 
its  power  as  dcvch)ped  wltliin  the  individual  S(/ul — 
its  influence  on  the  min.  s  of  others,  -.'his  idea  is 
embodied  in  the  character  of  Correggio  :  yet  he  is 
no  abstraction,  but  perfectly  individualized.  All 
those  traits  of  his  life  and  peculiar  habits  and  dispo- 
sition, handed  down  by  tradition,  are  most  carefully 
preserved,  and  the  result  is  a  most  admirable  por- 
trait of  the  artist  and  the  man.  His  gentleness,  his 
tenderness,  his  sensitive  modesty,  his  sweet,  loving, 
retiring  disposition,  are  all  touched  with  exquisite 
delicacy.     The  out-break  of  noble  self-confidence. 


*      <; 


36 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


>l     I 


il!' 


'i      ,1  i 


when  he  exclaimed,  after  gazing  on  RafTaelle's  Si, 
Cecilia,  **  Anck^  io  sono  Pittore  /"  is  beautifully  in- 
troduced. The  sight  of  the  same  picture  sent  La 
Francia  home  to  his  bed  to  die,  so  at  least  it  is  said  5 
but  Correggio  was  not  a  man  to  die  of  another's 
excellence,  though  too  often  doubting  his  own.  The 
anecdote  of  the  man  who  was  saved  from  the  rapa- 
city and  vengeance  of  a  robber,  by  an  appeal  to  one 
of  his  pictures,  and  the  story  of  his  paying  his  apo- 
thecary with  one  of  his  finest  works,*  are  also  real 
incidents  of  the  painter's  life,  introduced  with  the 
most  picturesque  eflect. 

Those  who  have  travelled  through  the  forests  of 
Catholic  Germany  and  Italy,  must  often  have  seen 
a  Madonna,  or  a  Magdalen,  in  a  rude  frame,  shrined 
against  the  I'notted  trunk  of  an  old  oak  overshadow- 
ing the  path  ;  the  green  grass  waving  round,  a 
votive  wreath  of  wild  flowers  hung  upon  the  rude 
shrine,  and  in  front  a  little  space  worn  bare  by  the 
knees  of  travellers  who  have  turned  aside  from  their 
journey  to  rest  in  the  cool  shade,  and  put  up  an  Ave 
Maria,  or  an  Ora  pro  nohis.  I  well  remember  once 
coming  on  such  a  Madonna  in  a  wild  woodland  path 
near  Vollbriicken,  in  Upper  Austria.  Two  little, 
half-naked  children,  and  a  gaunt,  black-bearded 
wood-cutter,  were  kneeling  before  it ;  and  from  afar 
the  songs  of  some  peasants  gathering  in  the  harvest 
were  born  on  the  air.  The  Maofdalen  of  Cor- 
reggio,  the  same  which  is  now  in  the  Dresden  gal- 
lery, and  multiplied  in  prints  and  copies  through 

♦  The  Christ  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  now,  if  I  remember 
ri^hlly^  in  possession  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 


?i 


J' 


TRAGEDY    OF    CORRf.GGIO. 


TV 


lelle's  Si. 
Lifully  in- 
c  sent  La 
it  is  said ; 

another's 
wn.    The 

the  rapa- 
leal  to  one 
ghis  apo- 
3  also  real 
1  with  the 

I  forests  of 
have  seen 
le,  shrined 
ershadow 
round,  a 
the  rude 
are  by  the 
from  their 
up  an  Ave 
mber  once 
Hand  path 
\vo  little, 
k-hearded 
1  from  afar 
le  harvest 
n    of  Cor- 
esden  gal- 
s  through 

■  I  remember 


the  known  world,  is  represented  without  any  violent 
rjtretch  of  probability  as  occupying  such  a  situation  t 
nor  are  we  left  in  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  pic- 
ture  ;  it  is  described  in  three  or  four  exquisite  lines. 
It  is  beautiful — is  it  not  1 — where  Correggio  com- 
ments on  his  work,  as  he  is  presenting  it  to  the  old 
hermit  : 

'•  Ein  siindliaft  Mudcbcn,  das  mit  Rcu'  und  Angsl 
Wic  ein  geschcuclitcs  Rcli  -/.urn  Dickicht  floh, 
Um  der  ncichstcUung  f  rnei'  zu  entgchen. 
Doch  ist  cs  sclion  von  cincm  Weibe,  meyii  icli, 
Einmal  gcfallen  wicdcr  sich  zu  heben  ; 
Es  gibt  schr  wcn'ge  Manner,  die  das  konncn /'^ 

And  the  reply  of  Sllvestro  places  the  lovely  form 
before  us,  painted  in  words. 

Welch  oCiuin  Gemahlde  \ 
Derdunklc  Schattcnwald.  die  blondon  Haare, 
Die  weisse  Haut,  das  himmel  blau  Gewand 
Die  Jugendfiille  und  der  Todtcnkopf, 
Das  Weiberliafte  und  das  grosse  Buch, 
Ihr  habt  mit  viclcr  Kunst  die  Gegensiltze 
hi  schuner  Harmonic  heir  auf-gclost."t 

♦  An  erring  maiden,  that  in  fear  and  penitence 
Flies,  like  timid  hind,  to  the  deep  woods, 
Seeking  t'escapc  the  snares  around  her  laid— - 
And  it  is  good  to  see  a  hapless  woman 

That  has  once  fallen  redeem  herself: in  truth, 

There  be  few  men  methinks  could  do  as  much. 

+    •  .  .  What  a  fair  picture  ! 

This  dark  o'er-hanging  shade,  the  long  fair  hair, 
The  delicate  white-skin,  the  diirk  blue  robe, 
The  full  luxuriant  life,  the  grim  death's  head, 
The  tender  womanhood,  and  the  great  book-** 

VOL.  I.  4 


nfo 


]  I  m 


38 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


The  manner  in  which  Correggio  betrays  his  re- 
gret on  parting  with  his  picture,  is  also  natural  and 
most  exquisite. 


''  Die  Dicliter  haben's  gut ;  sic  kiinrvcn  immer 
Die  Kinder  alle  in  der  Nfilic  haben. 
Der  Mahler  ist  ein  armer  Vater,  dor 
Sic  in  die  weite  Welt  aussenden  muss  ; 
Da  miissen  sie  nachher  sich  selbst  versorqren."'* 


ii     ''ii 


u\ 


II 


Cirroupecl  around  Correggio  in  every  possible  de' 
grce  of  harmony  and  contrast,  we  have  a  variety  of 
figures  all  sufficiently  marked,  each  in  itself  com- 
plete, and  all  aiding  in  carrying  out  the  main  eifect, 
the  apotheosis  of  the  artist  hero. 

Nor  has  Oehlenschlriger  made  his  tragedy  the  ve- 
hicle for  mere  declamation,  nor  for  inculcating  any 
particular  system  of  art  or  set  of  principles.  In  Mi- 
chael Angelo  and  in  Giulio  Romano  we  have  exhi- 
bited two  artist-minds  as  different  from  each  other 
and  from  Antonio  Correggio  as  can  be  imagined. 
The  haughty,  stern,  arrogant,  but  magnanimous  and 
magnificent  Michael  Angelo,  can  with  diffitulty  be 
brought  to  appreciate,  or  even  look  I'pon  a  style  so 
different  from  his  own,  and  thunders  out  his  rules  of 
art  like  Olympian  Jove.     The  gay,  confident,  gene- 

Thcse  various  contrasts  have  you  cunningly 
Brought  into  sweetest  harmony. 

♦   Well  for  the  poet !  he  can  ever  have 
The  children  of  his  soul  beside  him  here; 
The  painter  is  a  needy  father;  he 
Sends  his  poor  children  out  in  the  widp  -worUl 
To  seek  their  fortune. 


I- 


§0 


TRACED Y    OF   CORREGGIO. 


39 


5  his  re- 
ai-al  anti 


siblc  Hc' 
arietv  of 
elf  com- 
in  eifect, 

y  tlie  ve- 

uing  any 
.  In  Mi- 
ave  exhi- 
ach  other 
magmetl. 
mous  and 
fitulty  be 
a  style  so 
is  rules  of 
njt,  gene- 


* 


roiis,  courteous  Giulio  Roman€>  is  less  exclusive,  if 
less  severely  grand,  in  his  taste.  The  luxuriant 
grace  of  Correggio,  the  blending  of  the  purely  na- 
tural with  the  purely  ideal,  in  his  concep-tions  of 
beauty,  are  again  distinct  from  both  these  great 
raasters.  Asrain  the  influence  of  art  over  minds  va- 
riously  constituted  is  exhibited  in  the  tender  wife  of 
(Jorroofq;io,  the  favorite  model  for  his  Madonnas  i 
the  old  hermit  Silvestro  ;  the  high-born,  beautiful 
/enthusiast,  Colestina,  who  places  the  lawrel-wreath 
on  the  brow  of  the  sleeping  painter :  and  the  pea- 
sant gill,  Lauretta,  who  gives  him  drink  v/hen  faint- 
ing with  thirst;  and  the  penitent  robber;  and  the 
careless  young  noble,  with  whom  art  is  subservient 
to  his  vanity  and  his  passions  ;  and  the  vulgar  villain 
ef  the  piece,  Battista,  who  alone  is  absolutely  in- 
sensible to  its  influence  ; — all  these  form,  as  beauti- 
ful a  group,  and  as  perfect  in  keeping,  as  we  can 
meet  in  dramatic  literature.  Then  there  are  such 
charming  touches  offeeling,  such  splendid  passages  of 
description  and  aphorisms  on  ai't,  which  seize  on  the 
fancy  and  cling  to  the  memory  !  while  the  allusions 
to  certain  well-known  pictures,  bringing  them  before 
the  mind's  eye  in  a  few  expressive  and  characteris- 
tic words,  are  delicious  to  the  amateur. 

The  received  account  of  the  cause  of  Correggio'jj 
death  rests  on  a  tradition,*  which  later  researches 


*  That  of  Vasari,  who  states  that  lie  died  in  extreme  poverty; 
tliat,  havinjj  received  at  Parma  a  payment  of  sixty  crowns, 
which  was  churlishly  made  to  him  in  copper,  he  walked  to  th« 
city  of  Corroggio  with  this  load  on  his  back  from  anxiety  to 
relieve  his  family,  and  died  in  consequence  of  the  effort.    LanzJ 


'<. 


40 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


render  very  problematical ;  but  it  remains  uncontra- 
dicted that  he  lived  and  died  poor — that  his  health 
was  feeble  and  delicate — his  life  retire^  and  blame- 
less J  and  the  catastrophe  has  been  so  long  current 
and  credited,  that  the  poet  has  done  well  to  adhere 
to  the  common  tradition.  In  the  very  moment  that 
Correggio  sinks  into  death,  a  messenger  arrives  from 
the  Duke  of  Mantua,  with  splendid  ollbrs  of  patron- 
age. He  comes  too  late.  Art  and  the  world  are  the 
heirs  of  the  great  man's  genius  ;  his  poor  family  fol- 
low him  heart-broken  to  the  grave. 

The  Schuld  of  Adolf  Milliner  does  not  produce 
jsuchan  overpowering  cll'cct  on  the  imagination  tlie 
second  time  of  rcatline^,  because  we  arc  not  hurried 
forward  by  the  interest  of  the  stoiy  ;  but  in  one  res- 
pect it  has  affected  me  more  deeply  than  at  firs^ 
Hugo  says, 

"  Mich  duiiket,  nic 
Solltcn  Nord  imd  Siid  sich  kiissrii  !''^^ 


■M 


,  ■ 


And  all  through  this  fine  play  the  spirit  of  the  North 
and  the  spirit  of  the  South  are  brought  into  beauti- 
ful yet  fearful  contrast.  The  passions  which  form 
thu  groundwork  of  the  piece  are  prepared  amid  the 
palaces  and  orange-groves  of  the  glowing  South  : 
tlie  catastrophe  evolved  amid  the  deserts  ar  ^  pine 


f  f 


and  other  of  his  bioijraphers  distrust  tliis  story,  and  liavc  point- 
ed out  its  improbability.     Wiiatcver  tiic  cause  of  his  deutli,  the 
oxpreKsions    f  AiuiibalCarracci  are  ooncUisivc  as  to  the  neglc«t 
aiid  jioverty  in  which  he  lived. 
■^  Mcthinks, 
Thc'.t  North  and  South  should  never  kiss  each  othcv. 


lii/i 


ACTRESSES. 


41 


pine 


M 


'4* 


V3 


forests  of  the  North;  and  in  the  fair,  still-gouled, 
but  heroic  Scandinavian  maid,  Jerta,  and  th€  dark, 
impassioned  Elvira,  we  have  the  personiiied  senti- 
ment of  the  North  and  the  South: 

Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  Coleridge  must 
have  had  this  tragedy  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote 
his  "  Remorse  V 

What  a  slight  touch  upon  an  extreme  link  will 
send  us  back  sometimes  through  a  long,  long  chain 
of  memories  and  associations  !  A  word,  a  name, 
has  sent  me  from  Toronto  to  Vienna  ;  what  a  flight ! 
what  a  contrast ! — it  makes  even  Fancy  herself 
breathless  !  Did  I  ever  mention  to  you  Madame 
Arneth  ?  When  the  "  Schuld"  was  produced  at 
V^ienna,  she  played  the  Scandinavian  Jerta,  and  I 
have  heard  the  effect  of  her  representation  com- 
pared, in  its  characteristic  purity  and  calmness,  an€| 
mild  intellectual  beauty,  to  the  "  moonlight  on  a 
enow-wreath" — a  comparison  which  gave  me  a  vivid 
impression  of  its  truth.  Madame  Arneth  was  her- 
self not  unlike  the  fair  and  serious  Jerta. 

The  question  has  been  often  agitated,  often  con- 
trovertedr;  but  I  am  inclined  to  maintain  the  opinion 
elsewhere  expressed,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the 
profession  of  an  actress  which  is  incompatible  with 
the  respect  due  to  us  as  women — the  cultivation  of 
every  feminine  virtue — the  practice  of  every  private 
duty.  I  have  conversed  with  those  who  think  other- 
wise, and  yet  continue  to  frequent  the  theatre  as  aa 
amusement,  and  even  as  a  source  of  mental  de- 
light and  improvement ;  and  this  I  conceive  to 
be  a  dereliction  of  principle — wrong  in  itself,  s^nd, 

VOL.  I.  4* 


1 

[ 

i  1- 

1 

f 

^! 

j- 

;i 

i 

t 

1           1 

L? 


'  j 

■  i 


'.'lin 


I  m 


ti 


■     1 


:) 


«! 


I 


^ 


I.J '  }■ 


4» 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


the  cause  of  wrong.     A  love  for  dramatic  repres  en  ■ 
tation,  for  imitative  action,  is  in  the  elements  of  our 
human  nature  ;  ive  see  it  in  children,  in  savages,  in 
all  ages,  in  all  nations  ; — we  cannot  help  it — it  is 
even  so.     That  the  position  of  an  actress  should 
sometimes  be  a  false   one — a  dangerous  one  even 
for  a  female,  is  not  the  fault  of  the  profession,  but 
the  effect  of  the   public  opinion  of  the  profession. 
When  fashion,  or  conventional  law,  or  public  opi- 
nion, denounce  as  inexpedient  what  they  cannot 
prove  to  be  wrong — stigmatize  what  ihcy  allow — 
encourage  and  take  delight  in    what  they  affect  to 
contemn — what  wonder  that  from   such   barbarous, 
such  senseless  inconsistency,  should  .spring  a  whole 
heap  of  abuses  and  mistakes  ?     As  to  tlie  idea  tliat 
acting,  as  a  profession,  is  incompatible  with  female 
virtue  and  modcstv,  it  is  not  merely  au  insult  to  the 
estimable  women  who  have  adorned  and  siill  adorn 
the  stage,  but  to  all  womankind  ;  it  makes  me  blush 
with  indignation.     Unreflecting  people — tbe  world 
is  full  of  such — point  to  the   numerous   instances 
which  might  be  cited  to  the  contrary.     1  have  been 
perplexed    by  them   sometimes   in   argument,   but 
never  on  consideration  and  examination  ;   and  vvitli 
regard  to  some  other  evils,  not  less,  as  it  appears  to 
me,  in  a  moral  point  of  vi ow,  I  do  not  see  their  ne 
ceasary  connexion  with  tie  stage  as   a   profession 
Vanity,  jealousy,  selfishn33s,  the  spirit  of  intrigue, 
the  morbid  eflects  of  over-excitement,  are  not  con 
fiued  to  actresses  ;  if  worien  placed  in  this  position 
do  require  caution  and  d  gnity  to  ward  off  tempta- 
tion, and  self-control  to  resist  it,  and  some  know- 


I 


JP?  >l 


SOPHIE    MULLER. 


43 


pres  en- 
5  of  our 
ages,  in 
t — it  is 

slioulcl 
nc  even 
ion,  but 
fession. 
>lic  opi- 

cannot 
allow — 
ifl'ect  to 
I'barous, 
a  whole 
loa  that 
1  female 
It  to  the 
ill  atlorn 
nc  blush 
ic  world 
[istances 
\e  been 
?nt,    but 
md  with 
pears  to 
heir  ne 
)fessioii 
iitrigue, 
fiot  con 
position 
tempta- 

know- 


"W 


'If- 


ledge  of  their  own  structure  and  the  liabilities  in- 
curred by  their  profession,  in  order  to  manage  bet- 
f^r  their  own  health,  moral  and  physical,  then  they 
jnly  require  what  all  women  should  possess — what 
every  woman  needs,  r  o  matter  what  her  position. 

But  to  return  to  Me.dame  Arneth. 

At  Vienna,  some  years  ago,  there  lived  three  cele- 
brated actresses,  all  beautiful,  and  yoi;ng,  and  gifted. 
Sophie  Midler  was  first  mentioned  to  me  by 
Schlegel ;  he  spoke  of  her  with  rapturous  admira- 
tion as  the  most  successful  representative  of  some 
of  Shakspeare's  characters  that  had  yet  been  seen 
in  Germany,  and  she  seems  to  have  left  an  inefface- 
ble  impression  on  those  who  raw  her  play  Chrim- 
liilde  in  the  "  Nicbclurig."  She  was  surrounded 
by  admirers,  adorers,  yet  1  never  heard  that  one 
amonn-  them  could  boast  of  beino-  distinjruished  even 
by  a  jirefcrence  ;  austere  to  Ijerself,  devoted  to  her 
art,  \vhi(jli  she  studied  assiduously,  her  ambition 
centered  in  it;  in  the  mean  time  she  was  perform- 
ing all  the  duties  of  a  daughter  to  an  aged  father, 
and  of  a  mother  to  a  family  of  younger  brothers 
and  sisters;  and  her  house  was  a  model  of  good 
order  and  propriety.     She  died  in  1830. 

Not  long  before  died  Anna  Kriiger,  equally  blame- 
less in  her  conduct  and  reputation  as  a  woman,  but 
in  all  other  respects  negligent  of  herself  and  of  her 
own  interests.  She  was  remarkably  free  from  all 
selfishness  or  jealousy,  charitable  and  good,  and 
universally  beloved.  Her  representation  of  spirited 
or  heroic  characters,  in  comedy  and  in  tragedy,  has 


il4 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


S}  ff 


been  described  to  me  as  wonderfully  fine.  Schiller's 
Joan  of  Arc  was  her  c7ief  cffeuvre. 

The    third    was    Antoinette    Adamberger,  now 
Madame  Arneth,  whom  I  am  happy  and  proud  to 
number  among  my  friends.     Iler  former  name  can- 
not be  unknown  to  you,  for  it  has  a  dear  yet  melan- 
choly celebrity  throughout  all  Germany,  and  is  in- 
separably  associated  with    the   literature    of   her 
country,  as  the  betrothed  bride  of  Theodore  Korner, 
the  poet-hero  of  the  war  of  deliverance.     It  was  not 
till  we  had  been  for  some  time  intimate  that  I  ever 
lieard  her  allude   to  Korner.     One  evening  as  we 
were  sitting  alone,  she  gave  me,  with  much  feeling 
and  graphic  power,  and  even  more  simplicity,  some 
particulars  of  her  first  interview  with  him,  and  the 
circumstances   which  led  to  theii    engagement.     I 
should  tell  you  that  she  was  at  the  time  a  favorite 
actress  of  the  Court  Theatre,  and  excelled  particu- 
larly in  all  characters  that  required  more  of  delicacy, 
and  grace,  and  dignity,  than  of  power  and  passion  ; 
those  of  Thekla  in  the  "  Wallenstein,"  and  Jerta 
in  the  "  Schuld,"  being  considered  as  her  master- 
pieces.    Of  her  judgment  as  an  artiste!  could  form 
some  idea,  from  an  analysis  into  which  1  once  tempt- 
ed her  of  theBeatrice  in  Schiller's  "  Braut  von  Mes- 
sina," a  character  in  which  she  is  said  to  have  excell- 
ed, and  which,   in   its  tender  delicacy  and  almost 
evjiuescent  grace,  might  be  compared  to  Perdita. 
To   analyze  all   the  passive   beauty  and   power  of 
Schiller's  conception,  must  have  required  a  just  and 
exquisite*  taste,  and  to  render  them  with  such  felicity 
and  effect,  a  person  corresponding  in  girlish  deli- 


»  i 


1 


.)!■  n 


ANTOINETTE    ADAMBERGEU. 


45 


>    I 


i 

%- 


cacy.  Yet,  perhaps,  in  her  youthful  years,  when 
she  played  Beatrice  divinely,  Madame  Arneth  could 
not  have  analyzed  the  character  as  iugeniously  as 
she  Jid  when  a  ripened  judgment  and  more  culti- 
vatod  taste  enabled  her  to  ref'^ct  on  hc3r  own  con- 
ception. This,  however,  is  digressing;  for  the 
moral  rjualities,  not  the  intellectual  powers,  of  the 
actress,  are  what  I  am  conteiuling  for.  Theodore 
Kbrncr  came  to  Vienna  in  1S13,  bringing  with  him 
his  ■  (Iriuie  Domino,"  a  piece  coniposcd  expressly 
or  Anna  Jvriiger  and  Antoiiietie  Adamberger. 
These  two  young  women,  difU.'ring  altogether  in 
character,  were  united  by  the  most  tender  friend- 
ship, und  a  sincere  admiration  for  each  other's  par- 
ticular talent.  I  h:  ve  been  told  that  it  was  delight- 
ful to  sec  them  play  together  in  the  same  piece,  the 
perfect  understanding  which  existed  between  them 
producing  an  efibct  of  harmony  and  reality  which 
was  felt,  rather  than  perceived,  by  the  audience.  At 
the  period  of  Ivorner's  arrival,  Antoinette  was  ill 
in  conse(|uence  of  the  extreme  severity  of  the  win- 
ter of  that  year,  and  the  I'ehearsal  of  the  "  Griine 
Domino"  was  ])ut  off  from  day  to  day,  from  week 
to  week,  till  Korner  became  absolutely  impatient. 
At  this  time  he  had  not  been  introduced  to  Antoi- 
nette, and  it  was  suspected  that  the  beauty  of  Anna 
Kriigcr  had  captivated  him.  At  hmgth,  the  conva- 
lescence of  the  principal  actress  v/as  announced,  the 
day  for  the  long-deferred  rehearsal  arrived,  and  the 
performers  had  assembled  in  the  green-room.  Now, 
it  happened  that  in  the  time  of  the  late  empress,* 


*  Maria-Thercsa-CaroUne  of  Naples,  who  died  in  1807. 


f'^ 


46 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


\     <l    . 


:  J 


i  I 


the  representation  of  Schiller's  "  Marie  Stuart"  had 
been  forbidden,  because  her  imperial  majesty  had 
been  greatly  scandalized  by  the  indecorous  quarrel 
scene  between  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Queen  Mary, 
and  particularly  by  the  catastrophe  of  th«'  latter, 
regarding  the  whole  play  as  extremely  dangerous 
and  derogatory  to  all  crowned  heads,  more  espe- 
cially female  ones.  On  her  death  it  was  hoped  that 
this  ]n-ohibitii)n  would  be  repealed,  and  the  perform- 
ers presented  a  petition  to  that  i^ect.  The  empe- 
ror, however,  steadily  refused,  on  the  plea  that  he 
had  i^roiniscd  the  empress  never  to  permit  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  tragedy.*  The  refusal  had  just  been 
received,  and  the  whole  corps  dramatiquc  were  in  a 
state  of  commotion,  and  divided  on  the  merits  of 
the  case.  Korner,  in  particular,  was  in  a  perfect 
fever  of  indignation,  and  exclaimed,  in  no  measured 
terms,  against  the  edict  wliich  deprived  the  public  of 
one  of  Schiller's  masterpieces,  in  tenderness  to  the 
caprices  of  an  old  woman  now  in  her  grave,  etcetera. 
The  greater  number  of  those  present  sympathized 
with  him.  The  dispute  was  at  its  height  when 
Antoinette  enttjied  the  room,  still  weak  from  recent 
illness,  and  wrapped  up  in  cloaks  and  furs.  Her 
comrades  crowded  around  her  with  congratulations 
and  expressions  of  affection,  and  insisted  that  the 
matter  in  dispute  should  be  referred  to  "  Toni ;" 
Korner,  meanwhile,  standing  by  in  proud  silence  ; 


y 


\n 


*  I  do  not  know  wlicther  the  emperor  was  ever  induced  to 
break  this  promise.  It  was  ajLcr  his  death  that  I  saw  the  Marie 
Stuart  performed  at  Vienna,  where  Madame  Schrocdcr  and 
MJlle.  Fournicr  appeared  asClaeen  Elizabeth  and  Mary  Stuart. 


ANTOINETTE    ADAMBERGER. 


47 


h 


latter, 


4 


he  ha  J  not  yet  been  introduced.  When  the  nflair 
was  stated,  and  the  opinions  of  the  mnjority  vehe- 
mently pressed  on  her,  she  replied  in  her  gentle 
manner,  "  I  do  not  pretend  to  judge  about  the  in- 
jurv  done  to  the  jjublic,  or  the  expediency  or  inex- 
pediency of  the  matter;  it  is  a  sirr  do  (pjcstion  be- 
tween rinht  and  \vrong— between  truth  and  false- 
hood.  For  niysr-lf,  I  can  only  say,  that  if  I  had 
made  a  promise  to  a  person  I  loved,  or  to  any  one, 
I  would  keep  it  as  long  as  I  had  life  myself,  and  the 
death  of  tliat  person  would  render  such  a  ])romisc 
not  less,  but  more  binding,  more  sacred,  if  possi- 
ble." 

This  simple  appeal  to  principle  and  truth  silenced 
all.  Korner  said  no  more,  but  his  attention  was 
fixed,  and  from  that  moment,  as  he  told  her  after- 
Avards,  he  loved  lu^r;  his  feelings  were  interested 
before  he  bud  even  looked  into  her  eyes  ;  and  it  is 
no  wonder  that  those  eyes,  when  revealed,  com- 
pleted her  coufjuest. 

Within  a  few  weeks  they  were  betrothed  lovers, 
and  within  a  few  months  afterwards   the  patriotic 
war  (die  Freiheits-Kriege)  broke  out,  and  Korner 
joined  Lutzow's  volunteers.  His  fate  is  well  known. 
Young  and  handsome,    a  poet  and  a  hero,  loving, 
and  in   the  full  assurance  of  being  loved,  with  all 
life's  fairest  visions  and  purest  affections  fresh  about 
his  head  and  heart,  he  perished — the  miniature  of 
"  Toni"  being  found  within  his  bosom  next  to  tlie 
little  pocket-book  in  which  he  had  written  the  Song 
of  the  Sword — the  first  shattered  by  the  bullet  which 
had  found  his  heart,  the  latter  stained  with  his  blood  ; 


I 

I 

( 


iNI 


.:« 


^Hl 


I  ■  ( 111  > 


ii, 


;  Kir' 


\^ 


iWll ! 


48 


WINTER    STLDIES. 


r  have  seen  it — held  it  in  my  hand  !  Now,  will  you 
believe,  that  within  three  or  four  months  afterwards, 
when  Antoinette  was  under  the  obligation  to  resume 
her  professional  duties,  the  first  character  she  was 
ordered  to  p];iy  was  that  of  Thckla  ]  In  vain  she 
entreated  to  be  s[)ared  this  outrage  to  every  feeling 
of  a  heart  yet  bleeding  from  her  loss;  the  greater 
her  reluctance,  the  greater  the  eRcct  which  would  be 
produced  on  the  ruriosily  and  sympathy  of  the  pub- 
lic ; — this,  I  suj^pn  '.\  was  the  cold  calculation  of  the 
directory!  tSlie  v»;h  ?!0,t  excu^-'ed;  and  after  going 
through  the  scone  in  which  the  Swedish  captain  re- 
lates to  Theklathe  death  of  her  lover,*  the  poor  An- 
toinette was  carried  from  the  stage  by  her  aunt  al- 
most lifeless,  and  revived  oidy  to  give  way  to  such 
agonies  of  grief  and   indignation  as  threatened  her 


reason. 


Madame  Arneth  is  remarkably  calm  and  simple 
in  her  manner,  and  more  than  twenty  years  had 
elapsed  since  she  had  been  thus  insulted  and  tortur- 
ed ;  but  when  she  alluded  to  this  jiart  of  her  history, 
she  became  gradually  convulsed  with  emotion,  trem- 
"bled  in  every  liti:ib,  and  pressed  her  hands  upon  her 
eyes,  from  whicli  the  tears  icould  gush  in  spite  of  an 
effort  to  restrain  them.  And  to  this,  you  will  say, 
an  actress  could  be  exposed  ?  Yes  ;  and  I  remem- 
ber another  instance,  when  under  circumstances  as 
cruel  and  as  revolting,  a  young  and  admired  actress 
wns  hurried  before  the  public  in  an  agony  of  reluc- 
lauco  ;  but  still  I  do  say,  that  such  exhibitions  are 

*  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  death  of  Theodore  Korner 
was  similar  to  that  of  Max  Piccodomini. 


r- 


!.     ■  t 


I 


f 


ANTOINETTE    ADAMBERUER. 


49 


not  necessarily  or  solely  confined  to  the  profession 
of  the  stage ;  woman,  as  a  legal  property,  is  sub- 
jected to  them  in  her  conventional  position  ;  a  woman 
may  be  brought  into  a  church  against  her  will, 
libelled  and  pilloried  in  an  audacious  newspaper ; 
an  English  matron  may  be  dragged  from  private 
life  into  a  court  of  justice,  exposed,  guiltless  and 
helpless,  to  the  public  obloquy  or  the  public  sympa- 
thy, in  shame  and  in  despair.  If  such  a  scene  can 
by  possibility  take  place,  one  stage  is  not  worse 
than  another. 

Antoinette  had  suffered  what  a  woman  of  a  quiet 
but  proud  temper  never  forgets  or  forgives.  She 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  quit  the  stage,  and  there 
was  only  one  way  of  doing  so  with  honor.  Four 
years  after  tlie  death  of  Korner  she  married  Mr. 
Arneth,  one  of  the  directors  of  the  Imperial  Museum, 
u learned  and  amiable  man,  considerably  older  than 
herself,*  and  with  whom  she  haslived  happily.  Before 
I  left  Vienna  she  presented  me  with  a  book  which 
Korner  had  given  her,  containing  his  autograph  and 
the  dramas  he  had  written  for  her — "  Die  Toni," 


;i 


I 


*  Miidaaic  Arnnh  is  now  Vorlcserln  (Reader)  to  the  Em- 
jiress  Dowayer,  and  intruslrd  witii  tlie  diivction  of  a  school, 
founded  by  the  Empress  for  the  children  of  soldiers.  In 
Austria  only  two  soldiers  in  each  company  are  allowed  to  mar- 
ry, and  the  female  children  of  such  marriages  are,  in  a  manner, 
predestined  to  want  and  infamy.  In  the  school  under  Madame 
Arneth's  direction,  I  found  (in  1S35)  forty  five  cliildren,  w-ell 
managed  and  healthy.  The  benevolence  which  suggested  such 
ftn  institution  is,  without  doubt,  praiseworthy;  but  what  shall 
we  say  of  the  system  which  makes  such  an  institution  neces- 
sary 1 


I  If 


!  M  I 


t^=      /!   ■ 


m 


60 


(I 


WINTEII   STUDIES. 


der  Grune  Domino,"  and  others.  I  exclaimecl 
thoughtlessly,  "  O  how  can  you  part  with  it?"  and 
she  replied  with  a  sweet  seriousness,  "  When  I  mar- 
ried a  worthy  man  who  loved  me  and  trusted  me,  1 
thoufjht  there  should  be  no  waverin"  of  the  heart 
between  past  recollections  and  present  duties:  I 
put  this  and  all  other  objects  connected  with  thai 
first  period  of  my  life  entirely  away,  and  I  have 
never  looked  at  It  since.  Take  it !  and  believe  me, 
even  ncic,  it  is  better  in  your  hands  tlian  in  mine." 
And  mine  it  shall  never  leave. 

Madame  Arneth  once  described  to  me  the  admi- 
rable acting  of  Schroeder  in  IMedca,  when  playing 
with  her  own  children  :  she  treated  them,  however, 
with  savage  roughness,  and  when  remonstrated 
with,  she  replied,  "  the  children  were  her  own,  and 
she  had  a  right  to  do  what  she  liUed  with  them." 
"  That  was  certainly  her  affair,"  added  Madame 
Arneth,  "  but  I  would  not  for  the  whole  vvoild  have 
exhibited  myself  before  my  own  children  in  such  a 
character." 

Is  not  this  a  woman  worthy  of  all  love,  all  respect, 
all  reverence?  and  is  not  this  the  sentiment  of  duty 
which  is,  or  should  be,  "  the  star  to  every  wandering 
bark  ?"  And  thus  1  have  read  and  scribbled  away 
two  long  days.  I'he  eve  of  my  intended  excursion 
is  come  at  last ;  I  am  looking  forward  to  to-morrow 
with  almost  childish  pleasure  and  impatience.  The 
weather  is  most  ominous  ;  but  I  shall  see  Niagara 
in  all  its  wintry  magnificence — a  sight  granted  to 
few.  O !  in  this  moment  I  do  not  envy  you  the 
blue  Meditemnean,  nor  the  summer  skies  and 
orange-groves  of  your  southern  island  ! 


NIAGARA.   IN   WINTER. 


51 


R 


-; 


t| 


NIAGARA  IN  WINTER, 

Merrily  dash  wo  o'er  valley  and  hiH, 

All  but  the  sleigh-bell  is  sleeping  and  still ; 

O  bless  the  dear  sleigh-bell !  there's  nought  can  compare 

To  its  loud  mci  ry  tones  as  they  break  on  the  ear. 

Our  horses  are  staunch,  and  they  dash  o'er  the  snow, 
Our  bells  ring  cut  gaily  the  faster  we  go ; 
The  night  breezes  sing  with  an  answering  swell 
To  the  melody  rude  of  the  merry  sleigh-bell. 

Canadian  Song. 

January  23. 

At  half-past  eight  Mr.  Campbell  was  at  the  door 
in  a  very  pretty  commodious  sleigh,  in  form  like  a 
barouche,  with  the  head  up.  I  was  absolutely  buried 
in  furs ;  a  blanket,  netted  for  me  by  the  kindest 
hands,  of  the  finest  lamb's-wool,  rich  in  color,  and 
as  light  and  elastic  as  it  was  deliciously  warm,  was 
folded  round  my  limbs  ;  buffalo  and  bear  skins  were 
heaped  over  all,  and  every  breath  of  thtf  external  air 
excluded  by  every  possible  device.  Mr.  Oampbell 
drove  his  own  gray  horses ;  and  thus  fortified  and 
accoutred,  off  we  flew,  literally  "  urgta  by  storms 
along  the  slippery  way,"  for  the  weather  was  ter- 
rific. 

I  think  that  but  for  this  journey  I  never  could 
have  imaijined  the  sublime  desolation  of  a  northern 
winter,  and  it  has  impressed  mo  strongly.  In  the 
first  place,  the  whole   atmosphere  appeared  as  if 


i  i! 


Ill  \ 


If; 


k         *: 


!  II  i 


'h\ 


1) 


52 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


converted  into  snow,  which  fell  in  thick,  tiny,  starry 
flakes,  till  the  buffalo  robes  and  furs  about  us  ap- 
peared like  swansdown,  and  the  harness  on  the  hor- 
ses of  the  same  delicate  material.  The  whole 
earth  was  a  white  waste  r  the  road,  on  which  the 
sleigh-track  was  only  just  perceptible,  ran  for  miles 
in  a  straight  line  ;  on  each  side  rose  the  dark,  me- 
lancholy pine-forest,  slumbering  drearily  in  the  hazy 
air.  Between  us  and  the  edge  of  the  forest  were 
frequent  spaces  of  cleared  or  half-cleared  land, 
spotted  over  with  the  black  charred  stumps  and 
blasted  trunks  of  once  magnificent  trees,  projecting 
from  the  snowdrift.  These,  which  are  perpetually 
reourring  objects  in  a  Canadian  landscape,  have  a 
most  melancholy  appearance.  Sometimes  wide 
openings  occurred  to  the  left,  bringing  us  insight  of 
Lake  Ontario,  and  even  in  some  places  down  upon 
the  edge  of  it :  in  this  part  of  the  lake  the  enormous 
body  of  the  water  and  its  incessant  movement  pre- 
vents it  from  freezing,  and  the  dark  waves  rolled 
in,  heavily  plunging  on  the  icy  shore  with  a  sullen 
booming  sound.  A  few  roods  from  the  land,  the 
cold  gray  waters,  and  the  cold,  gray,  snow-encum- 
bered atmosphere,  were  mingled  with  each  other, 
and  each  seemed  either.  The  only  living  thing  I 
saw  in  a  space  of  about  twenty  miles  was  a  magni- 
ficent bald-headed  eagle,  which,  after  sailing  a  few 
turns  in  advance  of  us,  alighted  on  the  topmost  bough 
of  a  blasted  pine,  and  slowly  folding  his  great  wide 
wings,  looked  down  upon  us  as  wo  glided  ben&ath 
him. 

The  first  village  we  passed  through  was  Spring- 


\^ 


OAKTILLE. 


53 


field,  on  the  river  Credit,  a  river  of  some  importance 
in  summer,  but  now,  converted  into  ice,  heaped  up 
with  snow,  and  undistinguishable.  Twenty  miles 
further,  we  stopped  at  Oak  villa  to  refresh  ourselves 
and  the  horses. 

Oakville  stands  close  upon  the  lake,  at  the  mouth 
of  a  little  river  called  Sixteen  Mile  Creek  ;  it  owes 
its  existence  to  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Chis- 
holin,  and,  from  its  situation  and  other  local  circum- 
staiceSj  bids  fnir  to  become  a  place  of  importance. 
In  the  summer  it  is  a  frequented  harbor,  and  carries 
on  a  considerable  trade  in  lumhcr,  for  so  they  cha- 
racteristically call  timber  in  this  country.  From 
its  dock-yards  I.  am  told  that  a  fine  steamboat  and  a 
dozen  schooners  have  been  already  launched. 

In  summer,  the  country  round  is  rich  and  beauti- 
ful, with  a  number  of  farms  all  in  a  high  state  of  cul- 
tivatio*^  ;  but  Canada  in  winter  and  in  summer  must 
be  lii>  different  regions.     At  present  the  mouth 

of  th^  ^ .  ^k  is  frozen  up  ;  all  trade,  all  ship-building 
suspended.  Oakville  presents  the  appearance  of  a 
straggling  hamlet,  containing  a  few  frame  and  log- 
houses  ;  one  brick  liouso,  (the  grocery  store,  or 
general  shop,  which  in  a  new  Canadian  village  is 
always  the  best  house  in  the  place,)  a  little  Metho- 
dist church,  painted  green  and  white,  but  as  yet  no 
resident  preacher ;  and  an  inn  dignified  by  the  name 
of  the  "  Oakville  House  Hotel."  Where  there  is 
a  store,  a  tavern,  and  a  church,  habitations  soon 
rise  around  them.  Oakville  contains  at  present 
more  than  three  hundred  inhabitants,  who  are  now 

6» 


i'  Jl 


if 


t'; 


Si 


\r.,''. 


te: 


1 

i' 

r 

1  ■ 

WINTER   studies; 


subscribing  among  themselves  for  a  sclioolmaste? 
and  a  resident  clergyman. 

I  stood  conversing  in  the  porch,  and  looking  about 
me,  till  I  found  it  necessary  to  seek  shelter  in  the 
house,  before  my  nose  w^as  absolutely  taken  off  by 
ohe   ice-blast.     The  little  parlor  v^^as  solitary,  and 
heated  like  an  oven.     Atjainst  the  wall  w^ere  stuck 
a  few  vile  prints,  taken  out  of  old  American  maga- 
zines ;  there  was  the  Duchess  de  Berri  in  her  wed- 
ding-dress, and  us  a  pendant,  the  Modes  de  Paris — 
"  Eobe  de  tulle  garuie  de  fleurs — coiffure  iiouvelle, 
inventce  par  Mons.  Plaisir."     The  incongruity  was 
but  too  laughable  !     I  looked  round  me  for  some 
amusement  or  occupation,  and  at  last  spied  a  book 
open,  and  turned  down  upon  its  face.      1   pounced 
upon  it  ac  a  prize  ;  and  what  do  you  think  It  was  1 
"  Devinez,  madame  !  je  vous  le  donne  en  trois,  je 
vousle  donne  en  quatre  !"  it  was — Don  Juan  ;  And 
so,  while  looking  from  the  window  on  a  scene  which 
realized  all  you  can  imagine  of  the  desolation  of 
savage  life,  mixed  up  with  just  so  much  of  the  com- 
mcn-place  vulgarity  of  civilij:ed  life  as  sufficed  to 
spoil  it,  I  amused  myself  reading  of  the  Lady  Ade- 
line Amundeville  and  her  precious  coterie,  and  there 
tin  en  t. 

Society  is  smootlied  to  that  excess, 

That  manners  hardly  differ  nnore  than  drcsi*. 

Our  ridicules  arc  kept  in  the  back  ground, 

Ridiculous  enough,  but  also  dull ; 

Professions,  too,  are  no  more  to  be  found 

Professionar,  and  there  is  nought  to  cull 

Of  Folly's  fruit ;  for  though  your  fools  abound, 

They're  barren,  and  not  worth  the  pains  to  pulL 


OAKTILLE. 


65 


Society  is  now  one  polished  horde, 

Form'd  of  two  mighty  tribes — the  bores  and  bored. 


A  delineation,  by  the  way,  which  might  almost  re- 
concile  one  to  a  more  savage  locality  than  that 
around  me. 

While  I  was  reading,  the  mail-coach  between 
Hamilton  and  Toronto  drove  up  to  the  door;  and 
because  you  shall  understand  what  sort  of  a  thing 
a  CanuJian  mail  is,  and  thereupon  sympathize  in 
my  irrepressible  wonder  and  amusement,  I  must 
sketch  it  lor  you..  It  was  a  heavy  wooden  edi- 
fice, about  the  si  se  and  form  of  an  old-fasliloned 
lord  mayor's  coacl  ,  placed  on  runners,  and  rai^od 
about  a  foot  from  the  ground  ;  the  whole  was  paint- 
ed of  a  bright  red,  and  long  icicles  hung  from  the 
roof.  J.  his  monstrous  machine  disgorged  from  its 
portal  eight  men-creatures,  all  enveloped  in  bear- 
skins and  shaggy  dreadnoughts,  and  pea-jackets, 
and  fur-caps  down,  upon  their  noses,  looking  like  a 
procession  of  bears  on  their  hind-legs,  tumbling  out 
of  a  showman's  caravan.  They  proved,  however, 
when  undisguised,  to  be  gentlemen,  most  of  them 
going  up  to  Toronto  to  attend  their  duties  in  the 
House  of  Assembly.  One  of  these,  a  personage  of 
remarkable  height  and  size,  and  a  peculiar  cast  of 
features,  was  introduced  to  me  as  Mr.  Kerr,  the 
po2«essor  of  large  estates  in  the  neghborhood, 
partly  ac^'nred,  and  partly  inherited  from  his  father- 
in-law,  Brandt,  the  famous  chief  of  the  Six  Nations. 
Kerr  himself  has  Indian  blood  in  his  veins.  His 
son,  young  Kerr,  a  fine  boy  about  ten  years  old,  is 


ii  i 


r,  I.I 


I    1 


l|i     M 


i 


t  4 

i'j 


I 


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t»f 


h    ''\i 


/•* 


56 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


the  present  acknowledged  chief  of  the  Six  Nations, 
in  his  mother's  right,  the  hereditary  chieftainship 
being  always  transmitted  through  the  female,  though 
passing  over  her.  Mrs.  Kerr,  the  eldest  daughter 
of  Brandt,  is  a  squav  of  unmixed  Indian  blood,  and 
has  been  described  to  me  as  a  very  superior  crea- 
ture. She  has  the  good  sense  to  wear  habitually 
her  Indian  costume,  slightly  modified,  in  which  she 
looks  and  moves  a  princess,  graceful  and  unrestrain- 
ed, while  in  a  fashionable  European  dress  the  effect 
is  exactly  the  reverse. 

Much  mischief  has  been  done  in  this  neighbor- 
hood by  beasts  of  picy,  and  the  deer,  driven  by 
hunger  and  the  wolves  from  their  forest  haunts,  have 
been  killed,  near  the  settlements,  in  unusual  num- 
bers. One  of  the  Indians  whom  I  saw  at  Toronto, 
on  returning  by  this  road,  shot  with  his  new  rifle 
eight  deer  in  one  day,  and  sold  them  at  Hamilton 
for  three  dollars  each — no  bad  day's  hunting.  The 
venison  in  Canada  is  good  and  abundant,  but  very 
lean,  very  unlike  English  venison  ;  the  price  is 
generally  four  or  six  cents  (two  pence  or  three 
pence)  a  pound. 

After  taking  some  refreshment,  we  set  forth 
again.  The  next  village  we  passed  was  called, 
oddly  enough,  Wellington  Square  ;  it  has  been  re- 
cently laid  out,  and  contains  about  twenty  wooden 
houses  ;  then  came  Port  Nelson,  Mr.  Kerr's  place. 
Instead  of  going  round  the  head  of  the  lake  by 
Hamilton,  we  crossed  that  very  remarkable  tongue 
or  slip  of  land  wli'oh  divides  Burlington  Bay  from 
Lake  Ontario ;  these  were,  in  fact,  two  separate 


BUULINGTON    BAY. 


57 


lakes  till  a  channel  was  cut  through  the  narrow 
isthmus.  Burlington  Bay,  containing  about  forty 
square  miles,  is  now  one  sheet  of  ice,  and  on  the 
slip  of  land,  which  i .  near  seven  miles  in  length, 
and  about  two  hundred  yards  in  width,  we  found 
the  snow  lying  so  deep  and  in  such  irregular  drifts, 
that  we  proceeded  with  difficulty.  At  length  we 
reached  Stony  Creek,  a  village  celebrated  in  these 
parts  as  the  scene  of  the  bloodiest  battle  fought  be- 
tween the  English  and  Americans  during  the  last 
war.  We  had  intended  to  sleep  here,  but  the  inn 
was  so  uncomfortable  and  unpromising,  that  after  a 
short  rest  we  determined  on  proceeding  ten  miles 
further  to  Beamsville. 

It  was  now  dark,  and,  the  snow  falling  thick,  it 
soon  became  imp^osible  to  distinguish  the  sleigh- 
track.  Mr.  Campbell  loosened  the  reins  and  left 
the  horses  to  their  own  instinct,  assuring  me  it  was 
the  safest  way  of  proceeding.  After  this  I  remem- 
ber no  more  distinctly,  except  that  I  ceased  to  hear 
the  ever-jingling  sleigb-^^'^^ls.  I  awoke,  as  if  from 
the  influence  of  nightmare,  to  find  the  sleigh  over- 
turned, myself  lying  in  the  bottom  of  it  half-smo- 
thered, and  my  companions  nowhere  to  be  seen; 
they  were  floundering  in  the  snow  behind. 

Luckily,  when  we  had  stretched  ourselves  and 
shaken  ofl'  the  snow,  we  were  found  unhurt  in  life 
and  limb.  We  had  fallen  down  a  bank  into  the  bed 
of  a  rivulet,  or  a  mill-race,  I  believe,  which,  being 
filled  up  with  snow,  was  quite  as  soft,  only  a  little 
colder,  than  a  down-bed.  Frightened  I  was,  be- 
wildered rather,  but  •*  effective"  in  a  moment.    It 


I .), 


ii 


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58 


WINTER    STUDI'jlS. 


was  impossible  for  the  gentlemen  to  leave  the 
horses,  which  were  plunging  furiously  up  to  the 
shoulders  in  the  snow,  and  had  already  broken  the 
sleigh  ;  so  I  set  off  to  seek  assistance,  Jiaving  re- 
ceived proper  directions.  Fortunately  we  were  not 
far  from  Beamsville.  My  beacon-light  was  to  be 
the  chimney  of  a  forge,  from  which  the  bright  sparks 
wei'e  streaming  up  into  the  dark  wintry  air,  visible 
from  a  great  distance.  After  scrambling  through 
many  a  snow-drift,  up  hill  and  down  hill,  1  at  last 
reached  the  forge,  where  a  man  was  hammering 
amain  at  a  ploughshare  ;  such  was  the  din,  that  I 
called  for  some  time  unheard  ;  at  last,  as  I  advanced 
into  the  red  HgVit  of  the  fire,  the  man's  eyes  fell  upon 
me,  and  I  shall  never  forget  his  look  as  he  stood 
poising  his  hammer,  with  the  most  comical  expres- 
sion of  bewildered  amazement.  I  could  not  get 
an  answer  from  him  ;  he  opened  his  mouth  and 
repeated  aw  !  staring  at  me,  but  without  speaking 
or  moving.  I  turned  away  in  despfiir,  yet  half 
laughing,  and  after  some  more  scrambling  up  and 
down,  1  found  myself  in  the  village,  and  was  directed 
to  the  inn.  Assistance  was  immediately  sent  off  to 
my  friends,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  supper  table 
was  spread,  a  pile  of  logs  higher  than  myself  blazing 
away  in  the  chimney  ;  venison-steaks,  and  fried  fish, 
coffee,  hot  cakes,  cheese,  and  whiskey  punch,  (the 
traveller's  fare  in  Canada,)  were  soon  smoking  on 
the  table ;  our  landlady  presided,  and  the  even- 
ing passed  merrily  away. 

The  old  landlady  of  this  inn  amused  me  exceed- 
ingly ;  she  had  passed  all  her  life  among  her  equals 


1 


ST.    CATHERINE  S. 


50 


izing 

fish, 

(the 

gon 

;ven- 


In  station  and  education,  and  had  no  idea  of  any 
distinction  between  guests  and  customers ;  and 
while  caressing  and  attending  on  me,  like  an  old 
mother  or  an  old  nurse,  gave  me  her  history,  and 
that  of  all  her  kith  and  kin.  Forty  years  before, 
her  husband  had  emigrated,  and  built  a  hovel,  and 
made  a  little  clearing  on  the  edge  of  the  lake.  At 
that  time  tliere  was  no  other  habitation  within  many 
miles  of  them,  and  they  passed  several  years  in 
almost  absolute  solitude.  They  have  now  three 
farms,  some  hundred  acres  of  land,  and  have  brought 
up  nine  sons  and  daughters,  most  of  whom  are 
married,  and  settled  on  lands  of  their  own.  She 
gave  me  a  horrid  picture  of  the  prevalence  of  drunk- 
enness, the  vice  and  the  curse  of  this  country. 

I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  the  intense  cold  of  this 
night ;  1  was  obliged  to  wrap  my  fur  cloak  round 
me  before  I  could  go  to  sloop.  I  rose  ill  and  could 
eat  no  breakfast,  in  s}>itc  of  all  the  coaxing  of  the 
good  landlady  ;  she  got  out  her  best  tea,  kept  for 
her  own  drinking,  (which  tasted  for  all  the  world, 
liivc  musty  hay,)  and  buttered  toast,  i.  c.  fried  bread 
steeped  in  melted  buttei',  and  fruit  preserved  in  mo- 
lasses— to  all  which  I  shall  get  used  in  time— I  must 
try,  at  least,  or  "  thank  Heaven,  j^^sYm^*-."  We  pro- 
ceeded eighteen  miles  further,  to  St.  Catherine's, 
the  situation  of  which  appeared  to  me  very  pretty 
even  in  winter,  and  must  be  beautiful  in  summer. 
I  am  told  it  is  a  place  of  importance,  owing  to  the 
vicinity  of  the  Welland  Canal,  which  connects 
Lake  Ontario  with  Lake  Erie  :  it  contains  more 
than  seven  hundred  inhabitants.     The  school  here 


I 


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1 


GO 


WINTER   STUDIi:3. 


is  reckoned  tlie  best  in  the  district.  We  passed 
this  morning  several  streams,  which  in  summer  flow 
into  the  lake,  now  all  frozen  up  and  undistinguisha* 
ble,  except  hy  the  wooden  bridges  which  cross  them, 
and  the  mills,  now  still  and  useless,  erected  along 
their  banks.  These  streams  have  the  names  of 
Thirty  Mile  Creek,  Forty  Mile  Creek,  Twenty 
Mile  Creek,  and  so  on ;  but  wherefore  I  could  not 
discover. 

From  St.  Catherine's  we  proceeded  twelve  miles 
farther,  to  Niagara.  There  I  found  some  old  En- 
glish or  rather  Irish  friends  ready  to  welcome  me 
with  joyous  affection  ;  and  surely  there  is  not  a  more 
blessed  sight  than  the  face  of  an  old  friend  in  a  new 
land  ! 


li  •! 


January  20. 
The  town  of  Niagara  presents  the  same  torpid  ap- 
pearance which  seems  to  prevail  everywhere  at  this 
season ;  it  is  situated  at  the  mouth  of  the  river 
Niagara,  and  is  a  place  of  much  business  and  resort 
when  the  navigation  is  open.  The  lake  does  not 
freeze  here,  owing  to  the  depth  of  its  mnjestic  wa- 
ters ;  neither  does  the  river,  from  tlie  velocity  of  its 
current;  yet  both  are  blocked  up  by  the  huge  frag- 
ments of  ice  which  are  brouofht  down  from  Lake 
Erie,  and  which,  uniting  and  accumulating  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river,  form  a  field  of  ice  extending  far 
into  the  lake.  How  beautiful  it  looked  to-day, 
broken  into  vast  longitudinal  flakes  of  alternate 
white  and  azure,  and  S2)arkling  in  the  sunshine  ! 


tl 

■rl 


NIAGARA^ 


61 


ap- 

th!9 


trag' 


There  are  dock-yards  here  lately  erected,  dry 
blocks,  iron  works  of  some  extent,  and  a  steam-en- 
gine for  hauling  up  vessels  for  repair;  the  chief  pro- 
prietor is  a  good-natured  and  public-spirited  gentle- 
man, Capiain  Melville.  He  tells  me  that  upwards 
of  twenty  thousand  pounds  have  been  expended  on 
these  works,  and  they  employ  constantly  about  fifty 
workmen ;  yet,  in  spite  of  this,  and  in  spite  of  its 
local  advantages,  as  a  frontier  town  and  tbe  oldest 
settlement  in  Upper  Canada,  Niagara  does  not 
make  progress.  The  population  and  the  number  of 
houses  have  remained  nearly  stationary  for  the  last 
five  years.  I  find  the  peopte  complaining  much  of 
the  want  of  a  good  school. 

The  land  all  around  Niagara  is  particularly  fine 
and  fertile,  and  it  has  been  longer  cleared  and  cul- 
tivated than  in  other  parts  of  the  province.  The 
country,  they  say,  is  most  beautiful  in  summer,  taxes 
are  trifling,  scarcely  felt,  and  there  are  no  poor-rates; 
yet  ignorance,  recklessness,  despondency,  and  ine- 
'Ijriety,    seem  to   prevail.      A 


-,  who  has   been 

settled  here  for  five  years,   and  B ,  himself  a 

Canadian,  rate  the  morality  of  the  Canadian  popu- 
lation frightfully  low;  lyii^g  and  drunkenness  they 
spoke  of  as  nearly  universal  ^  men  who  come  here 
with  sober  habits  quickly  fall  into  the  vice  of  the 
country ;  and  those  wlio  have  the  least  propensity 
to  drinking  find  the  means  of  gratification  compa- 
ratively cheiip,  and  little  check  from  public  opinion. 

Men  learn  to  drink,  who  never  drank  before  ; 

And  those  who  always  drank,  now  drink  tho  more, 

VOL.  I.  Q 


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\Vli\Ti:U    STUJDILS. 


mi 


Thougli  J  parody,  1  do  not  jest ;  for  m  truth,  if  all, 
or  eveti  half,  of  \vh;it  I  heard  to-day  bo  true,  this  is 
a  horrible  stale  of  thiiifj!-!.  T  asked  for  a  bookseller's 
shop  ;  there  is  not  one  in  the  town,  but  plenty  of 
taverns.  There  is  a  duty  of  thirty  per  cent,  on 
books  iin])orted  from  the  TJ^nitod  Stales,  and  the  ex- 
pense on  books  imported  from  England  adds  at  least 
one-third  to  their  pi  ice;  but   there   is  no  duly  on 

^vhisl^ey.      "  If  government,"  said   B ,    "were 

to  lay  a  duty  on  whiskey,  we  should  only  have  the 
province  overrun  with  illicit  Hlills,  and  anothex' 
source  of  crime  and  depravity  added  to  the  main 
one." 

Sir  Francis  Head  recommended  to  mc,  ])layfuny» 
to  get  up  a  grievance,  tjiat  I  might  have  an  excuse 
lor  paying  him  a  visit.  I  think  I  will  rej)re8ent  to 
his  Kxccllcncy  the  dearness  of  books  and  the  cheap- 
ness of  whiskey.  T  ccnild  not  invent  a  worse  griev- 
ance cither  in  earnest  or  in  jest. 

The  opposite  shore,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off, 
is  the  State  of  New-York.  The  Americans  have  a 
fort  on  their  side,  and  we  also  have  a  fort  on  ouis. 
Whut  the  amount  of  their  ganison  may  be  I  know 
not,  but  our  force  consists  of  three  privates  and  a 
corporal,  with  adequate  arms  and  ammunition,  i.  c. 
rusty  firelocks  and  damaged  guns.  The  fortress 
itself  I  mistook  for  a  dilapidated  brewery.  This  is 
charming — it  Joo/cs  like  peace  and  security,  at  all 
events. 


I| 


NIAGARA    IN    WINTER. 


G3 


January  29. 
Well!  I  have  seen  these  cataracts  of  Niagara, 
whicli  have  tliundered  in  my  mind's  ear  ever  .since 
I  can  remember — wliich  have  been  my  "childhood's 
th(jught,  my  youth's  desire,"  since  first  my  imagina- 
tion was  awakened  to  wonder  and  to  wish.     I  have 
beheld  them,  and  shall  I  whisper  it  to  you  ! — but,  O 
tell   it   not   among   the    Philistines !— I    wish  I  had 
not !     I   wish   they  were   slill  a  thing  unbeheld — a 
tiling    to   be   imagined,  hoped,    and    anticipated — 
something  to  live   Ion — the   reality  has   displaced 
from  my  mind  an  allusion  far  more  magnificent  than 
itself — I  have  no  v/oids  for  my  utter  disappjint- 
ment :  yet   I   have   not  tlic  presumption  to  suppose 
that  all  1  have  heard  and  read  of  Niagara  is  false  or 
exaggerated — that    every   expression    of    aslonish- 
ment,  ci:lhusiasm,  rapture,  is  afTcctation  or  hyper- 
bole.    No!  it  must    be   my  own  fault.      Tnrni,  and 
some    of   the    Swiss    cataracts   li;nj)iug  from  their 
mountains,  have  alieoted  mo  a  thousand  times  more 
than  all  the  immensity  of  Niagara.     O  I  could  beat 
rnyself!   and  now  theie  is  no  help! — the  first  mo- 
ment, the  first   impression  is  over — is  lost;  though 
1  should  live   a  thousand   years,  long  as  Niagara 
itself  shall  roll,  I  can  never  see  it  again  for  the  first 
time.     Something  is  gone  that  cannot  be  restored. 
What  has  come  over  my  soul  and  senses? — I  am  no 
longer   Anna — I  am   metamorphosed — laTiiians- 
lated — I  am  an  ass's  head,  a  clod,  a  wooden  spoon, 
a  fat  weed  growing  on  Lethe's  bank,  a  stock,  a  stone, 
a  petrifaction — for  have  1  not  seen  Niagara,  the 


iff 
J 

*    ! 


M 


"! 


1 1 ' 


i\ 


!l 


■■^  '. 

'I?  4 
■  (■ 


€4 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


•wonder  of  wonders  ;  and  felt — no  words  can  tel! 
"what  disappointment ! 

But,  to  take  things  in  order  :  we  set  off  for  tho 
Falls  yesterday  morning,  with  the  intention  of  spend- 
ing the  day  there,  sleeping,  and  returning  the  next 
day  to  Niagara.     The  distance  is  fourteen  miles,  by 
a  road  winding  along   the  banks  of  the   Niagara 
river,  and  over  the  Queenston  heights  ;  and  beauti- 
ful must  this  land  be  in  summer,  since  even  now  it 
is  beautiful.  The  flower  garden,  the  trim  shrubbery^ 
the  lawn,  the   meadow  with  its  hedgerows,  when 
frozen  up  and  wrapt  in  snow,  always  give  me  the 
idea  of  something  not  only  desolate  but  dead  :  Na- 
ture is   the  ghost  of  herself,   and  trail.-  a  spectral 
pall;  I  always  feel  a  kind  of  pity — a  touch  of  me- 
lancholy— when  at   this  season  I    have  wandered 
among  withered  shrubs  and  buried  flower-beds  ;  but 
here,  in  the  wilderness,  where    Nature  is  wholly 
independent  of  art,  she  does  not  die,  nor  yet  mourn; 
she  lies  down  to  rest  on  the  bosom  of  Winter,  and  tho 
aged  one  folds  her  in  his  robe  of  ermine  and  jewels, 
and  recks  her  with   his  hurricanes,  and  hushes  her 
10  sleep.     How   still  it   was  !  how  calm,  how  vast 
the   glittering  white    waste    and    the   dark  purpl© 
forests  !     The  sun  shone  out,  and  the  sky  was  with- 
out a  cloud  ;  yet  we  saw  few  people,  and  for  many 
miles  the  hissing  of  our  sleigh,  as  we  flew  along 
upon  our   dazzling  path,  and    the  tinkling  of  tho 
sleigh-bells,  were  the  only  sounds  we  heard.  When 
we  were  within  four  or  five  miles  of  the  Falls,  I 
•topped  the  sleigh  from  time  to  time  to  listen  for 
the  roar  of  the  cataracts,  but  the  state  of  the  atmoa^- 


NIAGARA    IN   WINTER. 


65 


phere  was  not  favorable  for  the  transmission  of 
sound,  and  the  silence  was  unbroken. 

Such  was  the  deep,  monotonous  tranquillity 
which  prevailed  on  every  side — so  exquisitely  pure 
and  vestal-like  the  robe  in  which  all  nature  lay 
slumbering  around  us,  I  could  scarce  believe  that 
this  whole  frontier  district  is  not  only  remarkable 
for  the  prevalence  of  vice,  but  of  daik  and  despe- 
rate crime. 

Mr.  A.,  wlio  is  a  magistrate,  pointed  out  to  me  a 
lonely  house  by  the  way-side,  where,  on  a  dark 
stormy  night  in  the  preceding  winter,  he  had  sur- 
prised and  arrested  a  gang  of  forgers  and  coiners ; 
it  was  a  fearful  description.  For  some  time  my 
impatience  had  been  tlius  beguiled  — impatience  and 
suspense  much  like  those  of  a  cliild  at  a  tlieatre  be- 
fore the  curtain  rises.  My  imagination  had  been  so 
impressed  by  the  vast  height  of  the  Falls,  that  I 
was  constantly  looking  in  an  upward  direction, 
when,  as  we  came  to  the  brow  of  a  hill,  my  com- 
panion suddenly  checked  the  horses,  and  exclaimed, 
"  The  Falls  !" 

I  was  not,  for  an  instant,  aware  of  their  presence  ; 
we  were  yet  at  a  distance,  looking  down  upon  them  ; 
and  I  saw  at  one  glance  a  flat  extensive  plain  ;  the 
sun  having  withdrawn  its  beams  for  the  moment, 
there  was  neither  light,  nor  shade,  nor  color.  In 
the  midst  were  seen  the  two  great  cataracts,  but 
merely  as  a  feature  in  the  wide  landscape.  The 
sound  was  by  no  means  overpowering,  and  the 
clouds  of  spray,  which  Fanny  Butler  called  so  beau- 
tifully  the  "  everlasting    incense  of  the  waters," 


J 


I 


t 


il 


1 
i    Si 

1 


n 


66 


WINTER    STUDIES-, 


ii  w 


V'i     ■.n 


r.ow  condensed  ere  tbey  rose  by  the  excessive  coM, 
fell  round  the  base  of  the  cataracts  in  fleecy  folds, 
just  concealing  that  furious  embrace  of  the  waters 
above  and  the  waters  below.  All  the  associations 
which  in  imagination  I  had  gathered  round  the 
scene,  its  appalling  terrors,  its  soul-subduing  beauty, 
power  and  height,  and  velocity  and  immensity, 
were  all  diminished  in  effect,  or  wholly  lost. 


* 


I  was  quite  silent — my  very  soul  sunk  within  me: 
On  seeing  my  disappointment  (written,  I  suppose, 
most  legibly  iti  my  countenance)  my  companion  be- 
gan to  comfort  me,  by  telling  me  of  all  those  who 
had  been  disappointed  on  the  first  view  of  Niagara, 
and  had  confessed  it.  I  did  confess;  but  I  was  not 
to  be  comforted.  We  held  on  our  wav  to  the  Clif- 
ton  hotel,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ;  most  desolate  it 
looked  with  its  summer  verandahs  and  open  balco- 
nies cumbered  up  with  snow,  and  hung  round  with 
icicles — its  forlorn,  empty  rooms,  broken  windows, 
and  dusty  dinner  tables.  The  poor  people  who 
kept  the  house  in  winter  had  gathered  themselves 
for  warmth  and  comfort  into  a  little  kitchen,  and 
when  we  made  our  appearance,  stared  at  us  with  a 
blank  amazement,  which  showed  what  a  rare  thing 
was  the  sight  of  a  visitor  at  this  season. 

While  the  horses  were  cared  for,  I  went  up  into 
the  highest  balcony  to  command  a  better  view  of 
the  cataracts  ;  a  little  Yankee  boy,  with  a  shrewd, 
sharp  face,  and  tvvinkling  black  eyes,  acting  as  my 
gentleman  usher.  As  I  stood  gazing  on  the  scene 
which  seemed  to  enlarge  ujion  my  vision,  the  little 


I    1  v> 


.ir 


NIAGARA    IN    WINTER. 


67 


fellow  stuck  his  han^is  into  his  pockets,  and  looking 
up  in  my  fiace,  said, 

"  You  be  from  the  old  country,  T  reckon  V* 

"Yes." 

"  Out  over  there,  beyond  the  sea  1" 

'•  Yes." 

"  And  did  you  come  all  that  way  across  the  sea 
for  these  here  Falls  ]" 

"Ye    " 

"  My !  !"  Then  after  a  long  pause,  and  eyeing 
me  with  a  most  comical  expression  of  impudence 
and  fun,  he  added,  "  Now,  lo  yott,  know  what  them 
'ere  birds  are,  out  yonder]"  pointing  to  a  number 
of  gulls  which  were  hovering  and  sporting  amid  the 
spray,  rising  and  sinking  and  wheeling  around,  ap- 
pearing to  delight  in  plav'ng  on  the  verge  of  this 
"  hell  of  waters"  and  almost  dipping  their  wings 
into  the  foam.  l^Iy  eyes  w^re,  in  truth,  fixed  on 
these  fair,  fearless  creatures,  and  they  had  suggested 
already  twenty  fanciful  similitudes,  when  I  was 
roused  by  this  question. 

"  Those  birds  '("  said  I.     "  Whv,  w/tat  are  they  V 

"  Why,  them's  eacjle    !" 

"  Eagles  ]"  it  was  impossible  to  help  laughing. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  urchin  sturdily ;  "  and  I  guess 
you  have  none  of  them  in  the  old  country  V 

"  Not  many  eagles,  my  boy  ;  but  plenty  o{ gulls .'" 
and  I  gave  him  a  pretty  considerable  pinch  by  the 
ear. 


Ay!"  said    he,  laughing 


well  now, 


you 


be 


dreadful  smart — smarter  than  many  folks  that  come 
here  1" 


i 


fi  ' 


t 


i 


1 


i  M, 


!      r 

i  i 

'i 

1 

J: 

I 

'■■» 

^:1 


68 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


"We  now  prepared  to  walk  to  the  Crescent  fall, 
and  i  uound  some  crampons  to  my  feet,  like  those 
they  use  ar  ong  the  Alps,  without  which  I  could  n  jt 
for  a  moment  have  kept  my  footing  on  the  frozen 
surface  of  the  snow.  As  we  approached  the  Table 
Rock,  the  whole  scene  assumed  a  wild  and  wonder- 
ful magnificence  ;  down  came  the  dark-green  waters, 
hurrying  with  them  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice 
enormous  blocks  of  >ct  sironght  down  from  Lake 
Erie.  On  each  side  of  the  Falls,  from  the  ledges 
and  overhanging  clifts,  were  suspended  huge  icicles, 
some  twenty,  some  thirty  feet  in  length,  thicker  than 
the  body  of  a  man,  and  in  color  of  a  paly  green, 
like  the  glaciers  of  the  Alps;  and  all  the  crags  be- 
low, which  projected  from  the  boiling  eddying 
waters,  were  incrustetl,and  in  a  manner  built  round 
with  ice,  which  liad  formed  into  immense  crystals, 
like  basaltic  columns,  such  as  I  have  seen  in  the 
pictures  of  StafTa  and  the  Cliant's  Causeway;  and 
every  tree,  and  leaf,  and  branch,  fringing  the  rocks 
and  ravines,  were  wrought  in  ice.  On  them,  and  on 
the  wooden  buildings  erected  near  the  Table  Rock, 
the  spray  from  the  cataract  had  accumulated  and 
formed  into  the  most  beautiful  crystals  and  tracery 
work  ;  they  looked  like  houses  of  glass,  welted  and 
moulded  into  regular  ornamental  shapes,  and  hung 
round  with  a  rich  IVinge  of  icy  points.  Wherever  we 
stood  we  were  on  unsafe  ground,  for  the  snow,  when 
heaped  up  as  now  to  ihe  height  of  three  or  four  feet, 
frequently  slipped  in  masses  from  the  bare  rock,  and 
on  its  surface  the  spray,  for  ever  falling,  was  con- 
verted into  a  sheet  of  ice,  smooth,  compact,  and 


I 


l\ 


NIAGARA    IN   WINTER. 


69 


glassy,  on  which  I  could  not  have  stood  a  moment 
without  ray  crampons.  It  was  very  fearful,  and  yet 
I  could  not  tear  myself  away,  but  remained  on  the 
Table  Rock,  even  on  the  very  edge  of  it,  till  a  kind 
of  dreamy  fascination  came  over  me ;  the  continu- 
ous thunder,  and  might  and  movement  of  the  lap- 
sing waters,  held  all  my  vital  spirits  bound  up  as  by 
a  spell.  Then,  as  at  last  I  turned  away,  the  descend- 
ing sun  broke  out,  and  an  Iris  appeared  below  the 
American  Fall,  one  extremity  resting  on  a  snow 
mound  ;  and  motionless  there  it  hung  in  the  midst 
of  restless  terrors,  its  beautiful  but  rather  pale  hues 
contrasting  with  the  death-like  colorless  objects 
around;  it  reminded  me  of  the  faint  ethereal  smile 
of  a  dying  martyr. 

We  wandered  about  for  nearly  four  hours,  and 
then  returned  to  the  hotel :  there  my  good-natured 
escort  from  Toronto,  IMr.  Campbell,  was  waiting  to 
conduct  us  to  his  house,  which  is  finely  situated  on 
an  eminence  not  far  from  the  great  cataract.  We 
did  not  know,  till  we  arrived  there,  that  the  young 
and  lovely  wife  of  our  host  had  been  confined  only 
the  day  before.  This  event  had  been  concealed 
from  us,  lest  we  should  have  some  scruples  about 
acceptiiig  hos{)itality  under  such  circumstances ; 
and,  in  truth,  I  did  feel  at  first  a  little  uncomfortable, 
and  rather  dc  trap  ;  but  the  genuine  kindness  of  our 
reception  soon  overcame  all  scruples  :  we  were 
made  welcome,  and  soon  feU  ourselves  so  ;  and,  for 
my  own  part,  I  have  alwnvo  sympathies  ready  for 
such  occasions,  and  shared  very  honestly  in  the 
grateful  joy  of  these  kind  people.     After  dinner  I 


1 
1' 


1  J 


«   • 


»i    t: 


'ft. 


70 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


went  up  iiito  the  room  of  the  invalid — a  little  nest 
of  warmth  and  comfort ,  and  though  the  roar  of  the 
neighboring  cataract  shook  the  house  as  with  a  uni- 
versal tremor,  it  did  not  quite  overpower  the  soft 
voice  of  the  weak  but  happy  mother,  tior  even  the 
feeble  wail  of  rlie  new-born  babe,  as  1  took  it  in  my 
arms  with  a  whispered  blessing,  and  it  fell  asle(?p 
in  my  lap.  Poor  Httle  tiling  ! — it  was  an  awful  sort 
of  lullaby,  that  ceaselesh  thunder  of  the  mighty 
waters  ever  at  hand,  yet  lo  one  but  myself  :  cemed 
to  heed,  or  even  to  hear  it ;  &uch  is  the  force  of  cus- 
tom, and  the  power  of  adaptation  even  in  our  most 
delicate  orijans. 

To  sleep  ai  the  hotel  was  impossible,  aud  co  In- 
trude our;.civos  on  the  Camp'bells  equally  so.  Tt 
was  near  muJnighl  when  wo  mounted  our  sleigh  to 
return  to  the  town  of  Niagara, and, as  Iremcmi)er,l 
did  not  uttrr  a  vvord  durhigthe  whole  fourteen  miles. 
The  aii'  was  still,  though  keen,  the  snow  lay  arijund, 
the  whole  earth  seemed  to  slumber  in  a  gh.i.stly, 
calm  repose ;  but  the  heavens  were  wide  awake. 
There  the  Aurora  Boroalis  was  holding  her  revels, 
and  dancing  and  flashing,  and  varying  through  all 
shapes  aiid  all  hues — pale  amber,  rose  tint,  blood 
*ed — and  the  stars  shone  out  with  a  fitful,  restless 
brilliance  ;  and  every  now  and  then  a  meteor  would 
shoot  athwart  the  skies,  or  fall  to  earth,  and  all 
around  me  was  wild,  and  strange,  and  exciting — 
more  like  a  fever  dream  than  a  reality. 

To-day  I  am  suffering,  as  might  be  expected,  with 
pain  and  stiffness,  unable  to  walk  across  the  room  ; 
but  the  pain  will  pass :  and  on  the  whole  I  am  glad 


i 


NIAGARA    IN    WINTER. 


71 


1  have  made  this  excursion.  The  Falls  clid  not 
make  on  my  mind  the  impression  I  had  anticipated, 
perhaps  for  that  reason,  even  because  I  had  anf.ici' 
patcd  it.  Under  different  circumstances  it  might 
liave  been  otherwise  ;  but  "  it  was  sung  to  me  in 
my  cradle,"  as  the  Germans  say,*  that  I  should  live 
to  be  disappointed — even  in  the  Falls  of  ^Niagara. 


Toronto,  February  7. 

Mr.  B.  gave  me  a  seat  in  his  sleigh,  and  after  a 
rapid  and  very  pleasant  journey,  during  which  I 
gained  a  good  deal  of  information,  we  reached  To- 
ronto yesterdciy  morning. 

The  road  was  the  same  as  before — with  one  de- 
viation however — it  was  found  expedient  to  cross 
]3urlington  Bay  on  the  ice,  about  seven  miles  over, 
the  lake  beneath  being  twenty,  and  five-and-twenty 
fathoms  in  depth.  It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and 
the  only  light  was  that  reflected  from  the  snow.  The 
beaten  track,  from  which  it  is  not  safe  to  deviate, 
was  very  narrow,  and  a  man,  in  the  worst,  if  not  the 
last  stage  of  intoxication,  noisy  and  brutally  reck- 
less, was  driving  before  us  in  a  sleigh.  All  this, 
with  the  novelty  of  the  situation,  the  tremendous 
cracking  of  the  ice  at  every  instant,  gave  me  a  sense 
of  apprehension  just  sufficient  to  be  exciting,  rather 


*  "  So  war  mir's  in  der  Wicge  gesiingen,"  is  a  common  phrase 
in  the  north  of  Germany  to  express  something  to  which  we  are 
seemingly  predestined. 


U^i; 


mc 


72 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


than  very  unpleasant,  though  I  will  confess  to  a 
feeling  of  relief  when  we  were  once  more  on  the 
solid  earth. 

B.  is  said  to  be  a  hard,  active,  clever,  practical 
man.  I  liked  him,  and  thought  him  intelligent  and 
good-natured  :  wehi'  >  much  talk.  Leaving  his  ser* 
vant  to  drive,  he  wouir  iurap  down,  stand  poised 
upon  one  of  the  runners,  and,  thus  gliding  smoothly 
along,  we  conversed. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  with  which  you  are  pro- 
bably acquainted,  that  when  one  growth  of  timber 
is  cleared  from  the  land,  another  of  quite  a  different 
species  springs  up  spontaneously  in  its  place. 
Thus,  the  oak  or  the  beech  succeeds  to  the  pine, 
and  the  pine  to  the  oak  or  maple.  This  is  not  ic- 
counted  for,  at  least  I  have  found  no  one  yet  who 
can  give  me  a  reason  for  it.  We  passed  by  a  forest 
lately  consumed  by  fire,  and  I  asked  why,  in  clear- 
ing the  woods,  they  did  not  leave  groups  of  the  finest 
trees,  or  even  single  trees,  here  and  there,  to  embel- 
lish the  country  ?  But  it  seems  that  this  is  impossi- 
ble— for  the  trees  thus  left  standing,  when  deprived 
of  the  shelter  and  society  to  which  they  ha/e  been 
accustomed,  uniformly  perish — which,  for  mine  own 
poor  part,  I  thought  very  natural. 

A  Canadian  settler  hates  a  tree,  regards  it  as  hij 
natural  enemy,  as  something  to  be  destroyed,  eradi- 
cated, annihilated  by  all  and  any  means.  The  idea 
of  useful  or  ornamental  is  seldom  associated  here 
even  with  the  most  magnificent  timber  trees,  such 
as  among  the  Druids  had  been  consecrated,  and 
among  the  Greeks  would  have  sheltered  oracles  and 


l! 


1 


SOCIETV   AT    TORONTO. 


73 


votive  temples.  The  beautiful  faith  which  assigned 
to  every  tree  of  the  forest  its  guardian  nymph,  to 
every  leafy  grove  its  tutelary  divinity,  would  find 
no  votaries  here.  Alas  !  for  the  Dryads  and  Hama- 
dryads of  Canada  ! 

There  are  two  principal  methods  of  liilling  trees 
in  this  country,  besides  the  quick,  unfailing  destruc- 
tion of  the  axe ;  the  first  by  setting  fire  to  them, 
which  sometimes  leaves  the  root  uninjured  to  rot 
gradually  and  unseen,  or  be  grubbed  up  at  leisure, 
or,  more  generally,  there  remains  a  visible  fragment 
of  a  charred  and  blackened  stump,  deformed  and 
painful  to  look  upon ;  the  other  method  is  slower, 
but  even  more  effectual;  a  deep  gash  U  cut  through 
the  bark  into  the  stem,  quite  round  the  bole  of  the 
tree.  This  prevents  the  circulation  of  the  vital 
juices,  and  by  degrees  the  tree  droops  and  dies. 
This  is  technically  called  ringing  timber.  Is  not 
this  like  the  two  ways  in  which  a  woman's  heart 
may  be  killed  in  this  world  of  ours — by  passion  and 
by  sorrow  ]  But  better  far  the  swift  fiery  death 
than  this  "  ringing,"  as  they  call  it ! 


1.1 


February  17'. 
"  There  is  no  society  in  Toronto,''  is  what  I  hear 
repeated  all  around  me —  even  by  those  who  compose 
the  only  society  we  have.  "  But,"  you  will  say, 
"  what  could  be  expected  in  a  remote  town,  which 
forty  years  ago  was  an  uninhabited  swamp,  and 
twenty  years  ago  only  began  to  exist?"     I  really 

VOL.  I,  7 


74 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


]i',^ 


K  ■■r^i^ 


m\ 


II,    -i 


do  not  know  what  I  expected,  but  I  will  tell  yon 
what  I  did  not,  expect.  1  did  not  expect  to  find  here 
in  this  new  ca[)ital  of  a  new  country,  with  the  bound- 
less forest  within  half  a  inilc  of  us  on  almost  every 
side — concentrated  us  it  were  the  worst  evils  of 
our  old  and  most  artificial  social  system  at  home, 
with  none  of  its  agrimcns,  and  none  of  its  advan- 
tages. Toronto  is  like  a  fourth  or  fifth  rate  pioviu- 
cial  town,  with  lUe  pretensions  of  a  ca})ital  city, 
AVe  have  here  a  petty  coloniul  oligarchy,  a  self-con- 
stituted aristocracy,  ba.'^ed  upon  nothing  real,  nor 
even  upDii  any  thing  imaginary  ;  and  wc  have  alJ 
the  mutual  jealousy  and  lear,  and  petty  gossi]),  and 
mutual  meddling  and  mean  rivalslnp,  which  are 
common  in  a  small  society  of  which  the  member.3 
are  well  known  to  each  other,  a  society  com[)oscd, 
like  all  societies,  of  many  heterogeneous  j)articles  ,• 
but  as  these  circulate  v/ithin  verv  confined  limits, 
there  is  no  getting  out  of  the  way  of  what  one  most 
dislikes  :  we  mut:t  necessarily  hear,  see,  and  pas- 
sively endure  much  thai  annoys  and  disgusts  any 
one  accustomed  to  the  independence  of  a  large  and 
libeial  society,  or  the  ease  of  continent;!!  lifo.  It 
is  curious  enough  to  sec  how  quickly  anew  fashion, 
or  a  new  fully,  is  iniported  from  the  old  countrv, 
and  with  vvliat  ditliculty  and  del  ly  anew  idea  finds 
its  way  into  the  heads  of  the  pew^  le,  or  a  wow  boolc 
iuto  their  hands.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  I 
carmot  but  see  that  guud  spirits  and  corrective  prin- 
ciples are  at  work  ;  that  progress  is  making  :  though 
the  march  of  intellect  be  not  here  in  double  quick 


POLITICS    AND    PARTIES. 


75 


time,  as  in  Europe,  it    doe-    not  absolutely  stand 
stock-still. 

There  reigns  here  a  hateful  factious  spirit  in  poli- 
tical matters,  but  for  the  present  no  public  or  patri- 
otic feeling,  no  recognition  of  general  or  generous 
principles  of  policy  :  as  yet  I  have  meet  with  none 
of  these.  Canada  is  a  colony,  not  a  country  ;  it  is 
not  yet  identified  with  the  dearest  affections  and  as- 
sociations, remembrances,  and  hopes  of  its  inhabit- 
ants :  it  is  to  them  an  adopted,  not  a  real  mother. 
Their  love,  their  pride,  are  not  for  poor  Canada,  but 
for  high  and  happy  England  ;  but  a  few  more  gene- 
rations must  change  all  this. 

We  have  here  Tories,  Whigs,  and  Radicals,  so 
called  ;  but  these  words  do  twjt  signify  exactly  what 
we  mean  by  tlie  same  designations  at  home. 

You  must  recollect  thattlie  first  settlers  in  Upper 
Canada  were  those  who  were  obliged  to  fly  from  the 
United  States  during  the  revolutionary  war,  in  con- 
sequence of  their  attachment  to  the  British  govern- 
ment, and  the  soldiers  and  non-commissioned  officers 
who  had  fouijht  durinsf  the  war,  The^e  were  re- 
compensed  for  their  losses,  sufferings,  and  services, 
by  grants  of  land  in  Upper  Canada.  Thus  the  very 
first  elements  out  of  which  our  social  system  was 
framed,  were  repugnance  and  contempt  for  the  nev/ 
institutions  of  the  United  States,  and  a  dislike  to  the 
people  of  that  country — a  very  natural  resu'.r.  of 
foregoing  causes  ;  and  thus  it  has  happened  that 
the  slightest  tinge  of  democratic,  or  even  liberal 
principles  in  politics,  was  for  a  long  time  a  sufficient 
impeachaient  of  the  loyalty,  a  stain  upon  the  per- 


;  % 


i 


H  ! 


76 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


I   ! 


sonal  character,  of  those  who  held  them.  ThD 
Tories  have  therefore  been  hitherto  the  influential 
party  ;  in  their  hands  we  find  the  government  patron- 
age, the  principal  offices,  the  sales  and  grants  of 
land,  for  a  long  series  of  years. 

Another  party,  professing  the  same  boundless 
loyalty  to  the  mother  country,  and  the  same  dislike 
for  the  principles  and  institutions  of  their  Yankee 
neighbors,  may  be  called  the  Whigs  of  Upper  Ca- 
nada ;  these  look  with  jealousy  and  scorn  on  the 
power  and  prejudices  of  the  Tory  families,  and  in- 
sist on  the  necessity  of  many  reforms  in  the  colonial 
government.  Many  of  these  are  young  men  of 
talent,  and  professional  men,  who  find  themselves 
shut  out  from  what  lliey  regard  as  their  fair  propor- 
tion of  social  consideration  and  influence,  such  as,  in 
a  small  society  like  this,  tiieir  superior  education 
and  character  ought  to  command  for  them. 

Another  set  are  the  lladicals,  whom  I  generally 
hear  mentioned  as  "  those  scoundrels,"  or  "  those 
rascals,"  or  with  some  epithet  expressive  of  the 
utmost  contempt  and  disgust.  They  are  those  who 
wish  to  see  this  country  erected  into  a  republic,  like 
the  United  States.  A  few  among  them  are  men  of 
talent  and  education,  but  at  present  they  are  neither 
influential  nor  formidable. 

There  is  among  all  parties  a  general  tone  of  com- 
plaint and  discontent — a  mutual  distrust — a  languor 
and  supineness — the  causes  of  which  I  cannot  as  yet! 
understand.  Even  those  who  are  enthusiastically 
British  in  heart  and  feeling,  who  sincerely  believe 
t|hat  it  is  the  true  interest  of  the  coloijy  to   remaiiji 


i^ 


\ 


POLITICS. 


77 


under  the  control  of  the  mother  country,  are  as  dis- 
contented as  the  rest :  they  bitterly  denounce  the 
ignorance  of  the  colonial  officials  at  home,  with  re- 
gard to  the  true  interests  of  the  country  :  they  as- 
cribe the  want  of  c&pital  for  improvement  on  a  large 
scale  to  no  mistrust  in  the  resources  of  the  country, 
but  to  a  want  of  confidence  in  the  measures  of  the 
government,  and  the  security  of  property. 

In  order  to  understand  somethinfr  of  the  feelinfja 
which  prevail  hero,  you  must  bear  in  mind  the  dis- 
tinction between  the  two  provinces  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Caruida.  The  project  of  uniting  them  once 
more  into  one  legislature,  with  a  central  metropolis, 
is  moi;t  violently  opposed  by  those  whoso  personal 
interests  and  convenience  would  suller  materially 
by  a  change  in  the  seat  of  government.  I  have 
heard  some  persons  go  so  far  as  to  declare,  that  if 
the  union  of  the  two  provinces  were  to  bo  estab- 
lished by  law,  it  were  sufficient  to  absolve  a  man 
from  his  allegiance.  On  the  other  hand,  the  mea- 
sure has  powerful  advocates  in  both  provinces.*  It 
seems,  on  looking  over  the  map  of  this  vast  and 
magnificent  country,  and  reading  its  whole  history, 
that  the  political  division  into  five  provinces,!  each 
with  its  independent  governor  and  legislature,  its 
separate  correspondence  with  the  Colonial-office,  its 
local  laws,  and  local  taxation,  must  certainly  add  to 
the  amount  of  colonial  patronage,  and  perhaps  ren- 

*  A  very  clever  paper  on  thi.s  subject  was  published  in  the 
Quebec  Mercury,  Sept.  14th,  1837. 

t  Viz.  Upper  Canada,  Lower  Canada,  Nova  Scotia,  New- 
Brunswick,  and  Prince  Edward's  Island. 

7* 


1 


I'; 


I 


h 


78 


WINTER   STUDIE9. 


der  more  secure  the  subjection  of  the  whole  to  the 
British  crown  ;  but  may  it  not  also  have  perpetuated 
local  distinctions  and  jealousies — kept  alive  divided 
interests,  narrowed  the  resources,  and  prevented  the 
improvement  of  the  country  on  a  large  and  general 
scale  ? 

But  I  had  better  stop  here,  ere  I  get  beyond  my 
depth.  I  am  not  one  of  tliose  who  opine  sagely, 
that  women  have  nothing  to  do  with  politics.  On  the 
contrary  ;  but  I  do  seriously  think,  that  no  one,  be 
it  man  or  woman,  ought  to  talk,  much  less  write,  on 
what  they  do  not  understancl.  Not  but  that  I  have 
my  own  ideas  on  these  matters,  though  wc  M'crc 
never  able  to  make  out,  either  to  my  own  satisfac- 
tion or  to  yours,  whether  I  am  a  Whig,  or  Tory,  or 
Radical.  In  politics  I  acknowledge  but  two  par- 
ties— those  who  hope  and  those  who  fear.  In 
morals,  but  two  parties — those  who  lie  and  those 
who  speak  truth  :  and  all  the  world  I  divide  into 
those  who  love,  and  those  who  hate.  This  compre- 
hensive arrangement  saves  me  avast  deal  of  trouble,, 
and  answers  all  my  own  purposes  to  admiration. 


t!   : '     trti 


L      'I' 


February  18. 
Toronto  is,  as  a  residence,  v/ori  md  better  than 
other  small  communities — worse  in  so  much  as  it  is 
remote  from  all  the  best  advantages  of  a  high  state 
of  civilization,  while  it  is  infected  by  all  its  evils» 
all  its  follies ;  and  hetter,  because,  besides  being  a 
email  place,  it  is  a  young  place  ;  and  in  spite  of  this 
affectation  of  looking  back,,  instead  of  looking  up<. 


'      ! 


POLITICS. 


79 


it  must  advance — it  may  become  the  thinking  head 
and   beating   heart   of  a   nation,   great,  wise,  and 
happy ;  who    knows  ?     And    there    are    moments 
when,  considered  under  this  point  of  view,  it  as- 
sumes an  interest  even  to  me ;  but  at  present  it  is 
in  a  false  position,  like  that  of  a  youth  aping  matu- 
rity ;  or  rather  like  that  of  the  little  boy  in  Hogarth'?; 
pictui'e,  dressed  in   a  long-flapped  laced  waistcoat, 
ruffles,  and  cocked-hat,  crying  for  breod  and  butter. 
With  the  interminable  forests  wiihih  half  a  mile  of 
us — the  haunt  of  the  red  man,  the  wolf,  the  boar — 
with   an  absolute  want  of  the   means  of  the  most 
ordinary  mental  ^    d  moral  development,  we  have 
hero    conveui.ionr  .sm  in    its   most  oppressive  ana 
ridiculous  for;.is.     If  I  should  say,  that   at  present 
the  people  here  want  cultivation,  want  polish,  and. 
the  means  of  acquiring  either,  t/tai\s  natural — is  in- 
telligible— and   it  were  unreasonable  to  expect  it 
could  be  otherwise  ;  but  if  1  say  they  want  honesty, 
you  would   understand   mc,  they  would  not;  they 
would  imagine  that  I  accused  them  of  false  weights 
and  cheating  at  cards.     So  far  they  are  certainly 
"  indifferent  honest"  after  a  fashion,  but  never  did 
I  hear  so  little  truth,  nor  find  so  little  mutual  be- 
nevolence.    And    why  is  it   so  % — because  in  this 
place,  as  in  other  small  provincial  towns,  they  live 
under  the  principle  of  fear — they  are  all  afraid  of 
each   other,  afraid    to   be  themselves ;  and  where 
there  is  much  fear,  there  is  little  love,  and   less 
truth. 

I  was  reading  this  morning*  of  Maria  d'Escobar, 

♦  In  the  Life  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh. 


!i  ■ 


m 


■■!    :.    M, 


80 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


a  Spanish  lady,  who  first  brought  a  few  grains  of 
wheat  into  the  city  of  Lima.  For  three  years  she 
distributed  the  produce,  giving  twenty  grains  to  one 
man,  thirty  grains  to  another,  and  so  on — hence  all 
the  corn  in  Peru. 

Is  there  no  one  who  will  bring  a  few  grains  of 
truth  to  Toronto  ? 


February  21. 
The  monotony  of  this,  my  most  monotonous  exis- 
tence, was  fearfully  broken  last  night.  1  bad  gone 
early  to  my  room,  and  had  just  rung  for  my  maid, 
when  I  was  aware  of  a  strange  light  flashing  through 
the  atmosphere — a  fire  was  raghig  in  the  lower 
parts  of  the  city.  I  looked  out ;  there  was  the  full 
moon,  brighter  than  ever  she  shows  her  fair  face  in 
our  dear  cloudy  England — bright  and  calm  as  you 
now  behold  her  in  the  Mediterranean,  looking  down 
upon  the  snowy  landscape,  and  the  icy  bay  glittered 
like  a  sheet  of  silver ;  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
heavens  all  was  terror  and  tumult — clouds  of  smoke, 
mingled  with  spires  of  flame,  rose  into  the  sky. 
Far  off"  the  garrison  was  beating  to  arms — the  bell  j 
tolling;  yet  all  around  there  was  not  a  living  being 
to  be  seen,  and  the  snow-waste  was  still  as  death. 

Fires  are  not  uncommon  in  Toronto,  where  tho 
houses  are  mostly  wood  ;  they  have  generally  an 
alarum  once  or  twice  a  week,  and  six  or  eight 
houses  burned  in  the  course  of  the  winter;  but  it 
was  evident  this   was  of  more  fearful  extent  than 


\':, 


FIRE    AT    TORONTO. 


SI 


usual.  Finding,  on  inquiry,  that  all  the  household 
had  gone  off  to  the  scene  of  action,  my  own  maid 
excepted,  I  prepared  to  follow,  for  it  was  impossible 
to  remain  here  idly  gazing  on  the  flames,  and  lis- 
teninjj  to  the  distant  shouts  in  iirnorance  and  sus- 
pense.  The  fire  was  in  the  principal  street,  (King- 
street,)  and  five  houses  were  burning  together.  I 
made  my  way  through  the  snow-heaped,  deserted 
streets,  and  into  a  kind  of  court  or  garden  at  the 
back  of  the  blazing  houses.  There  was  a  vast  and 
motley  pile  of  household  stuff  in  the  midst,  and  a 
poor  woman  keeping  guard  over  it,  nearly  up  to  her 
knees  in  the  snow.  I  stood  on  the  top  of  a  bed- 
stead, leaning  on  her  shoulder,  and  thus  we  remained 
till  the  whole  row  of  buildinqs  had  fallen  in.  The 
Irishmen  (God  bless  my  countrymen  !  for  in  all 
good — all  mischief — all  frolic — all  danger — they 
are  sure  to  be  the  first)  risked  their  lives  most 
bravely  ;  their  dark  figures  moving  to  and  fro  amid 
the  blazing  rafters,  their  fine  attitudes,  and  the  reck- 
lessness with  which  they  flung  themselves  into  the 
most  horrible  situations,  became  at  last  too  fearfully 
exciting.  I  was  myself  so  near,  and  tb.e  flames 
were  so  tremendous,  that  one  side  of  mv  face  was 
scorched  and  blistered. 

All  this  time,  the  poor  woman  on  whose  shoulder 
I  was  leaning,  stood  silent  and  motionless,  gazing 
with  apparent  tranquillity  on  her  burning  house.  I 
remember  saying  to  her  with  a  shudder — "  But  this 
is  dreadful!  to  stand  by  and  look  on  while  one's 
home  and  property  are  destroyed!"  And  she  re- 
plied (]juietly,  •'  Yea,  ma'am ;  but  I  dare  say  some 


m 


1  h 


ii! 


82 


good  will 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


'I  ^i 


t 


come  of  it.  All  is  for  tlie  best,  if  one 
knew  it ;  and  now  Jemmy's  safe,  I  don't  care  for 
the  rest."  Now  Jemmy  was  not  her  son,  as  1 
found,  but  a  poor  little  orphan,  of  whom  she  took 
charo^e. 

There  had  been  at  first  a  scarcity  of  water,  but  a 
hole  being  hewed  through  the  ice  on  the  lake,  the 
supply  was  soon  quick  and  plentiful.  All  would 
have  been  well  over,  if  the  sudden  fall  of  a  stack 
of  chimneys  had  not  caused  some  horrible  injuries. 
One  poor  boy  was  killed,  and  some  others  maimed 
— poor  Mr.  13.  among  the  number.  After  this  I  re- 
turned home  rather  heart-sick,  and  nigh  to  the  house 
a  sleigh  glanced  by  at  a  full  gallop,  on  which  I  could 
just  perceive,  in  the  moonlight,  the  extended  form 
of  a  man  with  his  hands  clenched  over  his  head — as 
in  agony,  or  lifeless. 

Talking  this  mornino:  of  the  incidents  of  last 
night,  several  people  have  attempt''  to  comfort 
themselves  and  me  too  with  tlio  f--surance,  that 
whatever  might  be  the  private  loss  or  suH'ering,  a 
fire  was  always  a  2)iihlic  benefit  in  "J  oronto — a  good 
brick  house  was  sure  to  arise  ir>  the  place  of  a 
wooden  one.  It  may  be  so — brick  houses  arc  bet- 
ter certainly  than  wooden  ones — safer  too  ;  but  as 
a  general  argument,  I  never  can  bear  to  think  that 
any  public  benefit  can  be  based  on  individual  suf- 
fering ;  I  hate  the  doctrine,  and  am  not  convinced 
by  the  logic.  In  these  days  of  political  economy, 
it  is  too  much  a  fashif)n  to  consider  human  beings 
only  in  masses.  Wondrous,  and  vast,  and  all-im- 
portantasis  this  wide  frame  of  human  society,  with 


A    TRUE    STORY. 


S3 


■1«. 


till  its  component  elements  variously  blended — all 
its  magnificent  destinies — -is  it  more  importani  in 
the  sigiit  of  God,  more  fearful,  more  sublime  to 
contem[)late,  than  that  mysterious  world  of  pow- 
ers, and  afTcctions,  and  aspirations,  which  we  call 
the  human  soul  1 

In  what  regards  government  and  politics,  do  we 
not  find  the  interest  of  tlie  many  sacrificed  to  the 
few  ;  while,  in  all  that  regard.^  society,  the  morals 
and  the  happiness  of  individuals  are  sacrificed  to 
the  many  ]  and  both  are  wroncj.  I  never  canbiing 
niyself  to  admire  a  social  system,  in  which  the  ho- 
nor, riglit:<,  or  happiness  of  any  individual,  though 
the  meanest,  is  made  to  yield  to  a  supposed  futiiie 
(U'  (general  crood.  It  is  a  wicked  calculation,  and  it 
will  1)0  found  as  inexpedient  as  it  is  wicked. 

M'c    women    have    especial  reason    to    exclaim 
ngrinst   this   ]>rinci])le.       We    are    told    openly   by 
raoralib'.s  and  politicians,  that  it  is    for  the  genei-al 
good    of  society,   nay,  an   absolute    necessity,  that 
une-fifth  part  of  our  sex  should  be  condemned  as  the 
legitimate  prey  of  the   other,  predoomed  to  die   in 
rc])robatiun,  in  the  streets,  in  hospitals,  that  the  vir- 
tue of  the  rest  may  be  preserved,  and  the  jjride  and 
the  passions  of  men  both  gratified.     But  I  have  a 
l)ittcr  pleasure  in  thinking  that  this  most  base,  most 
cruel  conventional  law  is  avenged  upon   those  who 
made   and    uphold  it;  that   here   the   sacrifice  of  a 
certain  number  of  one  sex  to  the  permitted  license 
of  the    other   is   no    general    good,   but  a   general 
curse — a  very  ulcer  in  the  bosom  of  society. 

The  subject  is  a  hateful  one — more  hateful  is  it 


't    ': 


■i 


S4 


WINTER    STDDtRS, 


to  hear  it  sometimes  allutled  to  wilh  sneering  levity, 
and  sometimes  vvaved  aside  with  a  fastidious  or  ar- 
rogant prudery.  Unless  we  women  take  some  cou' 
rage  to  look  upon  the  evil,  and  find  some  help,  some 
remedy  within  ourselves,  I  know  not  where  it  is  to 
trouie  from. 

F.  told  me  yesterday  a  story  which  I  must  try  to 
note  down  for  you,  if  1  can  find  fit  words  in  which  to 
I'elate  it.  It  is  anotlier  proof  that  the  realities  of 
life  transcerd  all  fiction.  I  have  known — have  seen 
with  these  mine  own  eyes,  more  of  tragedy  and 
romance  than  I  would  dare  to  reveal — and  who  has 
not? 

F.  told  me,  that  when  he  was  serving  in  the  army 
in  the  Lower  Province,  a  young  officer,  one  of  his 
own  friends,  (mentioning  his  name,)  seduced  from 
her  parents  a  very  pretty  girl,  about  fifteen  or  six- 
teen. F.  knew  something  of  her  family,  which  was 
respectable,  and  tried  to  save  her,  but  in  vain.  After 
Bome  months,  the  officer  S.  became  tired  of  his  vie- 
tim,  and  made  her  over  to  a  brother  ofllicer.  F, 
again  interfered,  and  the  poor  girl  did  for  a  time 
return  to  her  parents,  who  gladly  and  gratefully  re- 
ceived her  ;  but  she  was  spoiled  for  her  home,  and 
her  home  was  spoiled  for  her;  the  sources  of  inno- 
cent pleasure  were  poisoned,  and  why  should  we 
wonder  and  exclaim,  if  a  woman  who  has  once 
known  the  flatteries  and  caresses  of  love,  find  it 
hard — most  hard  to  :<.sign  herself  to  days  and 
nights,  solitary,  toilsome,  joy^  ss,  unendeared? 
After  a  while,  the  colonel  of  the  regiment  found 
means  to  allure  her  again    from  her  home  ;  he  be* 


1 


A    TRUE    STORY. 


85 


«ame  strongly  attached  to  her,  she  was  faithful  and 
devoted  to  him,  and  he  took  her  with  him  to  England. 

Years  had  passed  away,  when  S.,  who  had  left  the 
army,  also  returned  to  England.  While  he  was 
roaming  about  London,  amusing  himself  as  young 
men  are  wont  to  do  after  along  absence  from  the  cen- 
tia\  mart  of  pleasure  and  dissipation,  he  betook 
himself  one  evening,  after  a  tavern  dinner,  to  some 
house  of  infamous  resort,  and  one  of  the  wretched 
women  of  the  establishment  was  sent  to  him  as  a 
companion.  As  she  entered  the  room,  S.  started 
from  the  sofa  to  encounter  in  the  impudent,  degrad- 
ed, haggard,  tawdry  thing  before  him,  the  poor  child 
who  had  been  his  victim  in  Canada  ;  but  long  years 
<>f  vice  aud  luisery  had  not  yet  utterly  hardened  her. 
They  stood  face  to  face  for  a  few  seconds,  and  look- 
•ed  in  silence  upon  each  other,  (and  who  can  tell  what 
in  those  few  seconds  may  have  passed  through  the 
minds  of  each  1)  and  then  the  miserable  girl  feU 
senseless  on  the  floor. 

lie  raised  her  up,  and,  in  the  remorse  and  agony 
of  the  moment,  ofiered  her  all  he  had  in  the 
world  ; — poor,  poor  compensation  !  He  urged  her 
return  to  Canada: — he  would  pay  all  her  expenses — 
place  her  beyond  the  reach  of  want — but  it  was  all 
in  vain. 

After  the  first  burst  of  fooling  was  over,  the 
wretched  girl  shook  him  from  her  with  sullen  scorn 
and  despair,  atid  not  only  refused  to  return  to  the 
home  she  had  disgraced,  but  even  to  accept  from 
him  any  thing  whatever — and  thus  she  left  him.  He 
it  was  —himself— who  described  the  scene  to  F. 

VOL.  I.  8 


:   K. 


86 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


"  Poor  fellow  !"  said  F.,  in  conclusion,  "  he  did 
not  recover  it  for  a  longtime — be  felt  it  very  much  1" 

Poor  fellow ! — and  yet  he  was  to  be  pitied;  he 
did  not  make  the  system  under  which  he  was  edu- 
cated. 

"  What  becanie  of  Captain  S.  ?"  I  asked. 

"  O,  he  married  well ;  he  is  now  a  very  respecta- 
ble and  excellent  man — father  of  a  family." 

"He  has  children,  then]" 

"  Yes  ;  several." 

"  Daughters  1" 

"  Yes." 

"  No  doubt,"  thought  I,  "  he  will  take  care  of 
them:' 

And  yet  one  word  more  before  I  throw  down  my 
pen.  I  have  wandered  far  from  the  fire  in  King- 
street — but  no  matter. 

How  often  we  hour  repeated  that  most  false  and 
vulgar  commonplace,  that  the  I'akes  and  libertines  of 
the  otlier  sex  are  sure  to  find  favor  with  women — ■ 
even  the  most  virtuous  vvomen  !  This  has  been  re- 
peated over  and  over  again  by  wits  and  playwrights 
till  foolish  women  take  the  thing  fur  granted,  and 
foolisli  men  aim  at  such  a  reputation  as  a  means  of 
pleasing  us.  O  the  folly  in  them — the  insult  to  us  ! 
No  man  ever  pleased  a  woman  because  he  was  a 
libertine.  What  virtuous  woman  has  the  least  idea 
of  what  a  libertine  really  is  1  What  fiir,  innocent 
girl,  who  hears  a  very  agreeable  and  perfectly  well- 
bred  man  stigmatized  as  such,  images  the  thing 
to  herself?  Does  she  know  what  it  means?  Can 
Me  follow  such  a  man  into  his  daily  life,  his  bought 


WOMEN. 


87 


pleasures,  his  shameful  haunts  1  Luckily— -or  shall 
I  not  say  unluckily? — she  has  no  knowledge,  no 
conception  even,  of  all  this.  If  the  truth  were 
laid  open  to  her,  how  she  would  shrink  away  from 
all  contact  with  such  a  being,  in  the  utter  disgust 
which  a  pure-hearted  and  pure-minded  being  would 
naturally  feel !  Her  idea  of  a  libertine  is  about  as 
near  the  truth  as  poor  Minna's  idea  of  a  pirate. 
And  so  that  which  is  the  lesult  of  the  "gnorance; 
the  innocence,  the  purity  of  women,  is  oddly  enough 
converted  into  rcpioach  against  us. 

No;  there  is  no  salvation  for  women  but  in  oui'- 
selvcs  :  in  self  knowledge,  self-reliance,  self-respect, 
and  in  mutual  help  and  pity;  no  good  is  done  by  a 
smiling  abuse  of  the  "wicked  courses"  of  men, 
while  we  trarnpie  into  irrecoverable  perdition  the 
weak  and  erring  of  our  own  sex.* 


*  I  cannot  forboar  (Quoting  liere  a  passage  from  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau,  printed  since  thislittle  journal  was  written  : 

"  In  tlie  present  case,  the  course  to  be  pursued  is  to  exalt  tlie 
aims  and  to  strengthen  the  self-discipline  of  the  whole  of  socie- 
ty by  eacli  one  being  as  good  as  he  can  make  himself,  and  rely- 
ing on  his  own  efforts  after  ?tlf-pcrfection,  rather  than  on  any 
fortunate  arrangcnuiits  of  outward  social  circumstances.  Wo- 
men, especially,  should  be  allowed  the  free  use  of  whatever 
strength  their  Maker  lias  Been  fit  to  give  them  ;  it  is  essential  to 
the  virtue  of  society  that  tliey  should  be  allowed  the  freest  moral 
action,  unfettered  by  ignorance  and  luiintimidated  by  authority: 
for  if  is  nil  unquestioned  and  v nqucstionablc  fact,  that  if  loomcti 
v.icre  not  weak,  men  iroiild  not  be  loickcd  ;  that  if  women  were 
bravely  piirc,  there  must  be  an  end  to  Ike  dastardUj  tyranny  of 
liccntLoiLsness." — Society  in  Aincrica. 


n;.M 


''t 


li 


F-^i 


S8 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


h  : 


February  24. 

"  Ce  qui  est  mo/'n^  que  moi,  m'eteint  et  m'assom- 
me :  ce  qui  est  d  cote  de  raoi  m'ennuic  et  me  fatigue  : 
il  u'y  a  que  ce  (jui  est  au-dessus  de  moi  qui  me  souti- 
enno  et  m'arrache  a  raoimeme."*  This  is  rru*. — 
/low  true,  I  Jcel,  and  far  more  prettily  said  than  I 
could  say  it;  and  thus  it  is  that  during  these  last 
few  days  of  illness  and  solitary  confinement,  I  took 
refuge  in  another  and  a  higher  world,  and  bring  you 
my  ideas  thereupon. 

I  have  been  reading  over  again  the  Iphigenia,  the 
Tasso,  and  the  Egmont  of  Goethe. 

Iphigenia  is  all  repose ;  Tasso  all  emotion  ;  Eg- 
mont all  action  and  passion.  Iphigenia  rests  upon 
the  grace  and  grandeur  of  form — it  is  statuesque 
throughout.  Tasso  is  the  strife  between  the  poetic 
and  prosaic  nature.  Egmont  is  the  working  of  the 
real ;  all  here  is  palpable,  practical — even  love 
itself 

I  laid  dov'n  the  Tasso  with  a  depth  of  emotion 
wliich  I  havtf  never  felt  but  after  reading  Hamlet,  to 
which  alono  I  could  compare  it ;  but  this  is  a  trage- 
dy profound  and  complete  in  effect,  without  the  in- 
tervention of  any  evil  principle,  without  a  dagger, 
without  a  death,  without  a  tyrant,  without  a  traitor! 
The  ti'utk  of  Leonora  d'Este's  character  struck  me 
forcibly  ;  it  is  true  to  itself,  as  a  character — true  to 
all  we  know  of  her  history.  The  shadow  which  a 
a  hidden  love  has  thrown  over  the  otherwise  trans- 
parent and  crystalline  simplicity  of  her  mind  is  vepy 
charming — more  charming  from  the  contrast   with 


|!i:r' 


*  Mademoiselle  de  I'Espiaass^. 


CLATIGO. 


her  friend  Leonora  Sanvitale,  who  reconciles  her- 
self to  the  project  of  removing  Tasso  with  exquisite 
feminine  subtlety  and  sentimental  cunning. 

Why  do  you  not  finish  your  translation  of  the 
Egmont  1  who  w  11  ever  do  it  as  you  can  ?  What 
deep  wisdom,  what  knowledge  of  human  nature  in 
every  scene  !  And  what  can  he  finer  than  the  two 
female  portraits — the  imperial,  imperious  INIargnret 
of  Austria,  and  iho  plebeian  girl,  Clarchcn  ]  The 
character  of  Clur'Mien  grows  upon  me  as  T  study  it. 
Is  she  not  really  a  Flemish  .Tii^  ,  iti  her  fond  im- 
patience, her  wilfulness,  and  t  i^ttv  of  resolvo 
arising  out  of  the  strength  of  -n  i  And  her 
tenderness  for  her  poor  disca,  .a  I<;\er,  IJrakcn- 
berg,  whom  she  cannot  love  and  cannot  hate,  is  all 
so  womanly  natural  ! 

*  *  #  # 

Tphigenia  is  an  heroic  tragedy — Tasso,  a  poetical 
tragedy  ;  Egmont,  an  historical  tragedy — Clavigo 
is  what  the  Clermans  call  a  biirgerliche,  or  domestic 
tragedy  (tragodie  bourgeoiso.)  I  did  not  read  this 
play  as  I  read  the  Tasso,  borne  aloft  into  the  ideal, 
floating  on  the  wings  of  enthusiasm  between  the 
earth  and  stars  ;  but  I  laid  it  down  with  a  terrible 
and  profound  ^?(7m — yes,  pain  !  for  it  was  worse  and 
deeper  than  mere  emotion.  Yet  it  is  difficult  to 
speak  of  Clavigo  as  a  work  of  art.  The  matter  of- 
fact  simplicity  of  the  plot,  the  every-day  nature  of 
the  characters,  the  prosaic  sentiments,  the  deep 
homely  pathos  of  the  situations,  are  almost  too  real 
— they  are  brought  home  to  our  own  bosoms,  our 
own   experience — they   are    just  what,  in  feeling 


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90 


WINTER  STUDIES. 


w 


most,  we  can  least  dare  to  express,  The  scene  be- 
tween Carlos  and  Clavigo,  in  which  Carlos  dis- 
suades his  friend  from  marrying  the  woman  to 
whom  he  was  engaged,  is  absolutely  wonderful.  If 
Clavigo  yielded  to  any  mere  persuasion  or  common- 
place  arguments,  he  would  be  a  despicable  wretch — 
we  should  feel  no  interest  about  him,  and  it  would 
also  belie  the  intellect  with  which  he  is  endowed. 
It  is  to  that  intellect,  Carlos  addresses  himself  Hia 
arguments,  under  one  point  of  view- -that  of  com- 
mon sense — are  unanswerable.  His  reasoning, 
springing  from  conviction,  is  reason  itself  What 
can  be  more  practically  wise  than  his  calculations — 
more  undeniably  true  than  his  assertions  ]  •  His 
rhetoric,  dictated  as  it  is  by  real  friendship,  and  full 
of  fire  and  animation,  is  even  more  overwhelming 
from  its  sincerity  than  its  eloquence  ;  md  his  sar- 
castic observations  on  poor  Marie  Beaumarchuis,  on 
her  want  of  personal  attractions,  her  ill-health,  her 
foreign  manners  ;  on  the  effect  she  will  produce  on 
society  as  his  wife,  and  the  clog  she  must  prove  to 
his  freedom  and  ambitious  career,  are  all  so  well 
aimed,  so  well  meant,  so  well  founded,  that  far  from 
hating  Carlos  and  despising  Clavigo,  we  are  im- 
pressed with  a  terror,  a  sympathy,  a  sort  of  fearful 
fascination.  Every  one  who  reads  this  play  must 
acknowledge,  and  with  an  inward  shuddering,  that 
it  is  possible  he  might  have  yielded  to  this  conven- 
tional common  sense,  this  worldly  logic,  even  for 
want  of  arguments  to  disprove  it.  The  only  things 
left  out  in  the  admirable  reasonings  and  calculations 
of  Ct^rlQs,  are  nature  and  conscience,  to  which,  iu 


f. 


IPHEGENIA. 


91 


their  combination,  the  world  have  agreed  to  give 
the  name  of  Romaiice.  But  never  yet  were  the 
feelings  and  instincts  of  our  nature  violated  with 
impunity;  never  yet  was  the  voice  of  conscience 
silenced  without  retribution.  In  the  tragedy,  the  ca- 
tastrophe is  immediate  and  terrible  ;  in  real  life  it 
m'ght  come  in  some  other  shape,  or  it  might  come 
later,  but  it  would  come — of  that  there  is  no  doubt. 


r 


\ 


February  95. 
The  accusation  which  has  been  frequently  made 
against  Goethe,  that  notwithstanding  his  passionate 
admiration  for  women,  he  has  throughout  his  works 
wilfully  and  systematically  depreciated  woman- 
hood, is  not  just,  in  my  opinion.  No  doubt  he  is 
not  so  universal  as  Shakspeare,  nor  so  ideal  as 
Schiller ;  but  though  he  might  have  taken  a  more 
elevated  and  a  more  enlarged  view  of  the  sex,  his 
portraits  of  individual  women  are  true  as  truth  it- 
self His  idea  of  women  generally  was  like  that 
entertained  by  Lord  Byron,  rather  oriental  and  sul- 
tanish;  he  is  a  little  of  the  bashaw  persuasion. 
"  Goethe,"  said  a  friend  of  mine  who  knew  him  in- 
timately, "  had  no  notion  of,  heroic  women,"  (Hel- 
denfrauen,)  "  in  poetry,  he  thought  them  unnatural, 
in  history,  false.  For  such  delineations  as  Schil- 
ler's Joan  of  Arc,  and  Stauffacher's  wife  (in  Wil- 
helm  Tell)  he  had  neitherfaith  nor  sympathy." 

His  only  heroic  and  ideal  creation  is  the  Iphige- 
nia,  and  she  is  as  perfect  and  as  pure  as  a  piece  of 
Greek  sculpture.     I  think  it  a  proof  that  if  he  did 


99 


WINTER   STUDIKS. 


not  understand  or  like  the  active  heroism  of  Ama- 
zonian ladies,  he  had  a  very  sublime  idea  of  the 
passive  heroism  of  female  nature.  The  basis  of  the 
character  is  truth.  The  drama  is  the  very  triumph 
of  unsullied,  unflinching  truth.  It  has  been  said, 
that  Goethe  intended  this  character  as  a  portrait  of 
the  Grand  Duchess  Louise,  of  Weimar.  The  in- 
tenlion  of  the  poet  remains  doubtful ;  but  it  should 
seem  that  from  the  first  moment  the  resemblance 
was  generally  admitted  :  and  what  a  glorious  com- 
pliment to  the  Uuchess  was  this  acknowledgment ! 
It  was  through  this  true-heartedness,  this  immuta- 
ble integrity  in  word  and  deed,  and  through  no 
shining  qualities  of  mind,  or  blandishments  of  man- 
ner, that  she  prevailed  over  the  angry  passions,  and 
commanded  the  respect  of  Napoleon,  a  man  who 
openly  contemned  women,  but  whose  instructions 
to  his  ambassadors  and  ministers  always  ended  with 
"  Soiguez  les  femmes,"  a  comment  of  deep  import 
on  our  false  position  and  fearful  power. 


February  27. 

I  have  had  a  visit  this  morning  from  a  man  I 
must  introduce  to  you  more  '  ucularly.  My 
friend.  Col.  F.,  would  have  pleao  me  any  where, 
but  here  he  is  really  invaluaj^le. 

Do  you  remember  that  lyric  of  Wordsworth, 
"  The  Reverie  of  Poor  Susan,"  in  which  he  de- 
scribes the  emotions  cf  a  poor  servant-girl  from  the 


!"«; 


A    SOLDIER    OF   FORTUNE. 


93 


country,  whose  steps  are  arrested  in  Cheapside  by 
the  song  of  a  caged  bird  ] 

'Tis  a  note  of  enchantment— what  ails  her?  she  sees 
A  mountain  ascending,  a  vision  of  trees; 
And  a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  like  a  dove's, 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that  she  loves  1 

She  looks,  and  her  heart  is  in  heaven  I 


And  how  near  are  human  hearts  allied  in  all  na- 
tural instincts  and  sympathies,  and  what  an  unfail- 
ing, universal  fount  of  poetry  are  these  even  in 
their  homeliest  forms  !  F.  told  me  to-day,  that 
once,  as  he  was  turning  down  a  bye  street  in  this 
little  town,  he  heard  somewhere  near  him  the  song 
of  the  lark.  (Now,  you  must  observe,  there  are  no 
larks  in  Canada  but  those  which  are  brought  from 
the  old  country.)  F.  shall  speak  in  his  own  words: 
"  So,  ma'am,  when  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  bird  in 
the  air,  I  looked,  by  the  natural  instinct,  up  to  the 
heavens,  though  I  knew  it  could  not  be  there,  and 
then  on  fchis  side,  and  then  on  that,  and  sure  enough 
at  last  I  saw  the  little  creature  perched  on  its  sod 
of  turf  in  a  little  cage,  and  there  it  kept  trilling  and 
warbling  away,  and  there  I  stood  stock  still — lis- 
tening with  my  heart.  Well,  I  don't  know  what  it 
was  at  all  that  came  over  me,  but  everything  seem- 
ed to  change  before  my  eyes,  and  it  was  in  poor 
Ireland  I  was  again,  and  m^  home  all  about  me,  and 
I  was  again  a  wild  slip  of  a  boy,  lying  on  my  back 
on  the  hill-side  above  my  mother's  cabin,  and  watch- 
ing, as  I  used  to  do,  the  lark  singing  and  soaring 


94 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


over  my  heatl,  and  I  straining  my  eye  to  follow  her 
till  she  melted  into  the  blue  sky — and  there,  ma'am 
— would  you  believe  it? — I  stood  like  an  old  fool 
listening  to  the  bird's  song,  lost,  as  in  a  dream,  and 
there  I  think  1  could  have  stood  till  this  day."  And 
the  eyes  of  the  rough  soldier  filled  with  tears,  even 
while  he  laughed  at  himself",  as  perfectly  unconscious 
that  he  was  talking  poetry,  as  Mons.  Jourdain  could 
be  that  he  was  talking  prose. 

Colonel  F.  is  a  soldier  of  fortune — which  phrase 
means,  in  his  case  at  least,  that  he  owes  nothing 
whatever  to  fortune,   but  every  thing  to  his  own 
good  heart,  his  own  good  sense,  and  his  own  good 
sword.     He  was  the  son,  and  glories   in  it,  of  an 
Irish  cotter,  on  the  estate  of  the   Knight  of  Glyn. 
At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  shouldered  a  musket,  and 
joined  a  regiment  which  was  ordered  to  Holland  at 
the  time  the  Duke  of  York  was  opposed  to  Du- 
mouiier.     His  only  reading  up  to  this  time  had  been 
"  The    Seven    Champions    of  Christendom,"  and 
"  The  Seven  Wise  Masters."     With  his  head  full 
of  these  examples  of  chivalry,  he  marched  to  his 
first  battle-field,  vowing  to  himself,  that  if  there 
were  a  dragon  to  be  fought,  or  a  giant  to  be  defied, 
he  would  be  their  man ! — at  all  events,  he  would 
enact  some  valorous  exploit,  some  doughty  deed  of 
arms,  which  should  astonish  the  world  and  dub  him 
captain  on  the  spot.     He  then  described  with  great 
humor  and  feeling  his  utter  astonishment  and  mor- 
tification on  finding  the  mechanical  slaughter  of  a 
modern  field  of  battle  so  widely  different  from  the 
picture  in  his  fancy  j — when  he  found  himself  one 


A  SoLDlEtt  01'  FOftTtJNE. 


95 


of  a  mass  in  which  the  individual  heart  and  arm, 
however  generous,  however  strong,  went  for  nothing 
— forced  to  stand  still,  to  fire  only  by  the  word  of 
command — the  chill  it  sent  to  his  heart,  and  his 
emotions  when  he  saw  the  comrade  at  his  side  fall 
a  quivering  corse   at  his  feet- — all  this  he  described 
with  a  graphic  liveliness  and  simplicity  which  was 
very  amusing.     He  was  afterwards  taken  prisoner, 
and  at  the  time  he  was  so  overcome  by  the  idea  of 
the  indignity  he  had  incurred  by  being  captured  and 
stripped,    and  of  the   affliction    and   dishonor  that 
would  fall  on  his  mother,  that  he  was  tempted  to 
commit  suicide  in  the  old  Roman  fashion;  but  on 
seeing  a  lieutenant  of  his  own  regiment  brought  in 
prisoner,  he  thought  better  of  it;  a  dishonor  which 
the  lieutenant  endured  with  philosophy,  might,  he 
though',  be  borne  by  a  subaltern,  for  by  this  time, 
at  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  was  already  sergeant. 

He  was  soon  afterwards  exchanged,  and  ordered 
out  to  Canada  with  his  regiment,  the  Forty-ninth. 
He  oluained  his  commission   as  lieutenant  In  the 
same  regiment  by  mere  dint  of  bravery  and  talent; 
but  as  his  pay  was  not  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  live 
like  his  brother  officers  and  purchase  his  accoutre- 
ments, the  promotion  he  had  earned  by  his  good 
conduct  became,  for  a  long  time,  a  source  oi"  em- 
barrassment.    During   the   last  American  war  he 
performed  a  most  brilliant  exploit,  for  which  he  re- 
ceived his  captain's  commission  on  the  field.  Imme- 
diately after  receiving  it,  he  astonished  his  comman- 
der by  asking  leave  of  absence,  although  another 
battle  was  e.^pcfted  in  a  few  days.     The  request 


Vv 


WINTER  STUDIES. 


General  Sheaffe 


was,  in  truth,  so  extraordinary  tl 
hesitated,  and  at  last  refused.  F.  said,  that  if  his 
request  was  granted,  he  would  be  again  at  head- 
quarters within  three  days;  if  refused,  he  would  gc 
without  leave.  "  For,"  said  he,  "  I  was  desperate, 
and  the  truth  was,  ma'ann,  there  was  a  little  girl  that 
I  loved,  and  I  knew  that  if  I  could  but  marry  her 
before  1  was  killed,  and  I  a  captain,  she  would  have 
the  pension  of  a  captain's  widow.  It  was  all  I  could 
leave  her,  and  it  would  have  been  some  comfort  to 
me,  though  not  to  her,  poor  soul !" 

Leave  of  absence  was  granted  ;  F.  mounted  his 
horse,  rode  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in  an  exceed- 
ingly short  time,  married  his  little  girl,  and  returned 
the  day  following  to  his  duties,  and  to  fight  another 
battle,  in  which,  however,  he  was  not  killed,  but  has 
lived  to  be  the  father  of  a  fine  family  of  four  brave 
sons  and  one  gentle  daughter. 

The  men  who  have  most  interested  me  throuffh 
life  were  dl  self  educated,  and  what  are  called  ori- 
ginals. This  dear,  good  F.  is  originalissimo.  iSome 
time  ago  he  amused  me,  and  gave  me  at  the  same 
time  a  most  vivid  idea  of  the  minor  horrors  and  ir- 
remediable mischiefs  of  war,  by  a  description  of  his 
being  quartered  in  a  church  in  Flanders.  The  sol- 
diers, on  taking  possession  of  their  lodging,  began 
by  breaking  open  the  poor-boxes  and  ransacking  the 
sacristie.  They  then  broke  up  the  chairs  and 
benches  for  fires  to  cook  their  rations,  and  these  not 
sufficing,  the  wooden  saints  and  carved  altars  were 
soon  torn  down.  Finding  themselves  incommoded 
by  the  smoke,  some  of  the  soldiers  climbed  up  by 


A  SOLDIER  OF  FORTUNE. 


97 


the  projecting  ornaments  and  smashed  through  the 
windows  of  rich  stained  glass  to  admit  the  air  and 
let  out  the  smoke.  The  next  morning  at  sunrise 
they  left  this  sanctuary  of  religion  and  art  a  foul  de- 
faced ruin.  A  century  could  not  make  good  again 
llie  pollution  and  spoliation  of  those  few  hours. 

**  You  must  not  be  too  hard  on  us  poor  soldiers," 
added  F.,  as  if  answering  to  a  look,  for  I  did  not 
comment  aloud.  "  I  had  a  sort  of  instinctive  per- 
ception of  the  mischief  we  were  doing,  but  I  was 
certainly  the  only  one ;  they  knew  no  better,  and 
the  precarious  life  of  a  soldier  gives  him  the  habk 
of  sacrificing  every  thing  to  the  present  momeirt 
•and  a  certain  callousness  to  the  suffering  and  destruc- 
tion which,  besides  that  it  ministers  to  the  immediate 
want,  is  out  of  sight  and  forgotten  the  next  instant. 
Why  I  was  not  quite  so  insensible  as  the  rest,  I  can- 
not tell,  unless  it  was  through  the  goodness  of  God. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  my  first  feeling,  next  to  my  love 
Jor  my  7noi7ier,-w^s  gratitude  to  God  for  having  made 
me  and  called  me  into  being  out  of  nothing.  My 
first  thought  was  what  I  could  do  to  please  him. 
Now,  in  epite  of  all  the  priest  might  say,  I  could  not 
perceive  that  fasting  and  praying  •:  ild  do  Him 
any  good,  so  I  looked  about  in  the  fu.ness  of  my 
heart  to  see  what  I  could  do — and  I  fancied  there 
was  a  voice  which  whispered  continually,  '  Do 
good  to  your  neighbor,  do  good  to  your  neighbor  I'  " 

With  so  much  overflowing  benevolence  and  fear- 
less energy  of  character,  and  all  the  eccentricity, 
and  sensibility,  and  poetry,  and  headlong  courage 
of  his  country,  you  cannot   wonder  that  this  brave 

VOL.  I.  9 


H 


98 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


:  r 


a 


and  worthy  man  interests  me  j  unluckily,  I  can  see 
him  seldom,  his  life  being  one  of  almost  unremil^ 


ting  toil. 


March  1. 

In  the  different  branches  of  art,  each  artist  thinks 
his  own  the  highest,  and  is  filled  with  the  idea  of 
all  its  value  and  all  its  capabilities  which  he  under- 
stands best  and  has  most  largely  studied  and  de- 
veloped. "  But,"  says  Dr.  Chalmers,  "  we  must 
take  the  testimony  of  each  mail  to  the  worth  of  that 
which  he  does  know,  and  reject  the  testimony  of 
each  to  the  comparative  wovthlessness  of  that  which 
he  does  not  know." 

For  it  is  not,  generally  speaking,  that  he  overrates 
his  own  particular  walk  of  art  from  over-enthusi- 
asm, (no  art,  when  considered  separately,  as  a 
means  of  human  delight  and  improvement,  can  be 
overrated,)  but  such  a  one-sided  artist  underrates 
from  ignorance  the  walks  of  others  which  diverge 
from  his  own. 

Of  all  artists,  musicians  arc  most  exclusive  in  de- 
votion to  their  own  art,  and  in  the  want  of  sympathy, 
if  not  absolute  contem])t,  for  other  arts.  A  painter 
has  more  sympathies  with  a  musician,  than  a  musi- 
cian with  a  painter.  A'erne4  used  to  bring  his  easel 
into  Pergolesi's  room,  to  paint  beside  his  harpsi- 
cord,  and  used  to  say  that  he  owed  some  of  hia 
finest  skies  to  the  inspired  harmonies  of  his  friend. 


\ 


I  I 


/ 


MUSIC    AND    MUSICIANS. 


99 


Pergolesi  never  felt,  perhaps,  any  harmonies  but 
those  of  his  own  delicious  art. 

"  Aspasia,  he  who  loves  not  music  is  a  beast  of 
one  species,  and  he  who  overloves  it,  is  a  beast  of 
another,  whose  brain  is  smaller  than  a  nightingale's, 
and  his  heart  than  that  of  a  lizard  !"  I  refer  you 
for  the  rest  to  a  striking  passage  in  Lander's  "  Peri- 
cles and  Aspasia,"  containing  a  most  severe  philip- 
pic, not  only  against  the  professors,  but  the  yrofcs- 
sion  of  music,  and  which  concludes  very  aptly, 
"  Panenus  said  this  :  let  us  never  believe  a  word  of 
it!"  It  is  too  true  that  some  excellent  musicians 
have  been  ignorant,  and  sensual,  and  dissipated,  but 
there  are  sufficient  exceptions  to  the  sweeping  cen- 
sure of  Panenus  to  show  that  "  imprudence,  intem- 
perance, and  gluttony,"  do  not  always,  or  necessa- 
rily, "  open  their  channels  into  the  sacred  stream  of 
music."  Musicians  are  not  selfish,  careless,  sensual, 
ignorant,  because  they  are  musicians,  but  because, 
from  a  defective  education,  they  are  nothing  else. 
The  German  musicians  are  generally  more  moral 
and  more  intellectual  men  than  English  or  Italian 
musicians,  and  hence  their  music  has  taken  a  higher 
ilight,  is  more  intellectual  than  the  music  of  other 
countries.  Music  as  an  art  has  not  degraded  them, 
but  they  have  elevated  music. 

It  is  impeaching  the  goodness  of  the  beneficent 
Creator  to  deem  that -moral  evil  can  be  inseparably 
connected  with  any  of  the  fine  arts — least  of  all  with 
music — the  soul  of  the  physical,  as  love  is  of  the 
moral,  universe. 

Tke  most  accomplished  and  intellectual  musician 


[j^- 


-.JLJLTJM^^-'    V    , 


i\ 


•i. 


100 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


I  ever  met  with  is  Felix  Mendelsohn.  I  do  not  re- 
collect if  it  were  himself  or  some  one  else  who  told 
me  of  a  letter  which  Carl  von  Weber  had  addressed 
to  him,  warning  him  that  he  never  could  attain  the 
highest  honors  in  his  profession  without  cultivating 
the  virtues  and  the  decencies  of  life.  "A  great 
artist,"  said  Weber,  "  ought  to  be  a  good  man." 

While  I  am  "  i'  the  vein,"  I  must  give  you  a  few 
more  musical  reminiscences  before  my  fingers  are 
quite  frozen. 

I  had  once  some  conversation  with  Thalberg  and 
Felix  Mendelsohn,  on  the  unmeaning  names  which 
musicians  often  give  to  their  works,  as  Concerto  in 
F,  Concerto  in  B  b,  First  Symphony,  Second  Sym- 
phony, &c.  Mendelsohn  said,  that  although  in 
almost  every  case  the  composer  might  have  a  lead- 
ing idea,  it  would  be  often  difficult,  or  even  impos- 
sible, to  give  any  title  sufficiently  comprehensive  to 
convey  the  same  idea  or  feeling  to  the  mind  of  the 
hearer. 

But  music,  except  to  musicians,  can  only  give 
ideas,  or  rather  raise  images,  by  association  ;  it 
can  give  the  pleasure  which  the  just  accordance  of 
musical  sounds  must  give  to  sensitive  ears,  but  the 
associated  ideas  or  images,  if  any,  must  be  quite 
accidental.  Haydn,  we  are  told,  when  he  sat  down 
to  compose,  used  first  to  invent  a  story  in  his  own 
fancy — a  regular  succession  of  imaginary  inci- 
dents and  feelings — to  which  he  framed  or  suited 
the  successive  movements  (motivi)  of  his  concerto. 
Would  it  not  have  been  an  advantage  if  Haydn 
could  have  given  to  his  composition  such  a  title  as 


MUSIC    AND   MUSICIANS. 


101 


would  have  pitched  the  imagination  of  the  listener 
at  once  upon  the  same  key  t  Mendelsohn  himself 
has  done  this  in  the  piecee  which  he  has  entitled 
"Overture  to  Melusina,"  "Overture  to  the  He- 
brides," "  Meeres  Stille  und  Gluckliche  Fahrt,  "  The 
Brook,"  and  others — which  is  better  surely  than 
Sonata  No.  1,  Sonata  No.  2.  Take  the  Melusina, 
for  example;  Is  there  not  in  the  sentiment  of  the 
music,  all  the  sentiment  of  the  beautiful  old  fairy 
tale  ? — first,  in  the  flowing,  intermingling  harmony, 
wc  have  the  soft  elemental  delicacy  of  the  water 
nymph  ;  then,  the  gushing  of  fountains,  the  undu- 
lating waves  ;  then  the  martial  prowess  of  the 
knightly  lover,  and  the  splendor  of  chivalry  prevail- 
ing over  the  softer  and  more  ethereal  nature  ;  and 
then,  at  last,  the  dissolution  of  the  charm  ;  the  ebb- 
ing, fainting,  and  failing  away  into  silence  of  the 
beautiful  water  spirit.  You  will  say  it  might 
answer  just  as  well  for  OncHne  ;  but  this  signifies 
little,  provided  we  have  our  fancy  pitched  to  certain 
poetical  associations  pre-existing  in  the  composer's 
mind.  Thus,  not  only  poems,  but  pictures  and  sta- 
tues, might  be  set  to  music.  I  suggested  to  Thal- 
berg  as  a  subject  the  Aurora  of  Guide.  It  should 
begin  with  a  slow,  subdued,  and  solemn  movement, 
to  express  the  slumbrous  softness  of  that  dewy  hour 
which  precedes  the  coming  of  the  day,  and  which 
in  the  picture  broods  over  the  distant  landscape,  still 
wrapt  in  darkness  and  sleep;  then  the  stealing 
upwards  of  the  gradual  dawn  ;  the  brightening,  the 
quickening  of  all  life  ;  the  awakening  of  the  birds, 
the  burst  of  the  sunlight,  the  rushing  of  the  steeds 

9* 


ii  ij 

M 


I 


.  :i! 


: 

! 

In 

'tfli!  If 

m  ' 

lit'  '■ 

lihi' 

1r 

f  1  f 

102 


WINTER  STUCrlES. 


of  Hyperion  through  the  sky,  the  aerial  dance  of 
the  Hours,  and  the  whole  concluding  with  a  mag- 
nificent choral  song  of  triumph  and  rejoicing  sent 
xip  from  universal  nature. 

And  then  in  the  same  spirit — no,  in  his  own 
grander  spirit — I  would  have  Mendelsohn  improvi- 
ser  the  Laocoon.  There  would  be  the  pomp  and 
procession  of  the  sacrifice  on  the  sea-shore ;  the 
flowing  in  of  the  waves  ;  the  two  serpents  which 
come  gliding  on  their  foamy  crests,  wreathing,  and 
rearing,  and  undulating;  the  horror,  the  lamenta- 
tion, the  clash  of  confusion,  the  death  struggle,  and^ 
after  a  deep  pause,  the  wail  of  lamentation,  the 
funereal  march  ;  the  whole  closing  with  a  hymn  to 
Apollo.  Can  you  not  just  imagine  such  a  piece  of 
music,  and  composed  by  Mendelsohn  ]  and  can  you 
not  fancy  the  possibility  of  setting  to  music  in  the 
same  maimer,  Raffaelle's  Cupi  and  Psyche,  or  his 
Galatea,  or  the  group  of  the  Niobe  1  Niobe  would 
be  a  magnificent  subject  either  for  a  concerto,  or  fo,f 
a  kind  of  mytiiological  oratorio. 


March  2. 

Turning  ovor  Boswell  to-day,  I  came  upon  this 
passage  :  Johnson  says,  "  I  do  not  commend  a  so- 
ciety where  there  is  an  agreement  that  what  would 
not  otherwise  be  fair  shall  be  fair ;  but  I  maintain 
that  an  individual  of  any  society  who  practises  what 
is  allowed,  is  not  dishonest.^' 

What  say  you  to  this  reasoning  of  our  great  mo- 


t 


> 


DR.  JOHNSON. 


103 


t 


ralist  ?  Does  it  not  reduce  the  whole  moral  law  to 
something  merely  conventional  1 

In  another  place,  Dr.  Johuaon  asks,  "  What  pro- 
portion does  climate  bear  to  the  complex  system  of 
human  life  ]"     I  shiver  while  I  answer,  "  A  good 
deal,  my  dear  Doctor,  to  some  individuals,  and  yet 
more  to  whole  races  of  men." 

He  says  afterwards,  "  I  deal  more  in  notions  than 
in  facts."     And  so  do  I,  it  seems. 

He  talks  of  "  men  being  held  doicn  in  conversation 
by  the  presence  of  women" — /ic? J  m/^  rather,  where 
moral  feeling  is  concerned  ;  and  if  held  down  where 
intellect  and  social  interests  are  concerned,  then  so 
much  the  worse  for  such  a  state  of  society. 

Johnson  knew  absolutely  nothing  about  women  ; 
witness  that  one  assertion,  among  others  more  in- 
sulting, that  it  is  matter  of  indifference  to  a  woman 
whether  her  husband  be  faithful  or  not.  He  says,  in 
another  place,  "  If  we  men  require  more  perfection 
from  women  than  from  ourselves,  it  is  doing  them 
honor." 

Indeed  !  If,  in  exacting  from  us  more  perfection, 
you  do  not  allow  us  the  higher  and  nobler  nature, 
you  do  us  not  honor  but  gross  injustice  ;  and  if  you 
do  allow  us  the  higher  nature,  and  yet  regard  us  as 
subject  and  inferior,  then  the  injustice  is  the  greater. 
There,  Doctor,  is  a  dilemma  for  you. 

Of  all  our  modern  authors,  Coleridge  best  under- 
stood the  essential  nature  of  women,  and  has  said  the 
truest  and  most  beautiful  things  of  our  sex  gene- 
rally ;  and  of  all  our  modern  authors,  Hazlitt  was 


104 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


>  *< 


most  remarkable  for  his  utter  ignorance  of  women, 
geneiaiiy  and  individually. 

Charles  Lamb,  of  all  the  men  I  ever  talked  to, 
had  the  most  kindly,  the  most  compassionate,  the 
most  reverential  feelings  towards  woman  ;  but  he 
did  not,  like  Coleridge,  set  forth  these  feelings  with 
elaborate  eloquence — they  came  gushing  out  of  his 
heart  and  stammering  from  his  tongue — clothed 
sometimes  in  the  quaintest  disguise  of  ironical 
abuse,  and  sometimes  in  words  which  made  the 
tears  spring  to  one's  eyes.  He  seemed  to  undei'- 
stand  us  not  as  a  poet,  nor  yet  as  a  man  of  the 
world  ;  but  by  the  unerring  instinct  of  the  most 
loving  and  benevolent  of  hearts. 

When  Coleridge  said  antithetically,  "  that  it  was 
the  beauty  of  a  woman's  character  to  be  character- 
less," I  suppose  it  is  as  if  he  had  said,  **  It  is  the 
beauty  of  the  diamond  to  be  colorless ;"  for  he  in- 
stances Ophelia  and  Desdemona ;  and  though  they 
are  colorless  in  their  pure,  transparent  simplicity, 
they  are  as  far  as  possible  from  characterless,  for  in 
the  very  quality  of  being  colorless  consists  the  cha- 
racter. 

Speaking  of  Coleridge  reminds  me  that  it  was 
from  Ludwig  Tieck  I  first  learned  the  death  of  this 
wonderful  man  ;  and  as  I,  too,  had  "  sat  at  the  feet 
of  Gamaliel  and  heard  his  words,"  the  news  struck 
me  with  a  solemn  sorrow.  I  remember  that  Tieck. 
in  announcing  the  death  of  Coleridge,  said,  in  his 
impressive  manner,  "  A  great  spirit  has  passed 
from  the  world,  and  the  world  knew  him  not." 


i     r^ 

.'JV 


/ 


CONSTITUTION    OP    CANADA. 


105 


1 1 


There  are  two  ladies  in  Toronto  who  have  con- 
crvatories,  a  proof  of  advancing  wealth,  and  civi- 
lization, and  taste,  which  you  will  greatly  admire. 
One  of  them  had  the  kindness  to  send  me  a  bouquet 
of  hot-house  flowers  while  I  was  ill  this  last  time ; 
and  a  gift  of  fifty  times  the  value  could  not  have  ex- 
cited the  same  pleasure  and  gratitude.  I  spread 
the  flowers  out  on  my  bed,  and  inhaled  their  fra- 
grance with  emotions  I  dare  hardly  confess — even 
to  you.  I  had  no,  seen  a  flower  since  I  left 
England. 


if 


Yesterday,  (March  4th,)  our  provincial  parliament 
was  prorogued  by  the  governor  in  state,  and  1  had 
the  honor  of  assisting,  as  the  French  say,  on  that 
important  occasion. 

Now  you  would  not  ask  me,  nor  do  I  feel  inclined, 
to  encumber  my  little  note-book  (consecrated  to  far 
different  purposes,  far  different  themes)  with  infor- 
mation to  be  obtained  in  every  book  of  travels  and 
statistics  ;  but  it  is  just  possible  that  you  mat/  know 
as  little  of  our  political  constitution  and  forms  of 
proceeding  as  I  did  before  my  arrival  in  Upper 
Canada,  and  I  wish  to  make  the  scene  of  yesterday 
as  intelligible  and  as  interesting  to  you  as  I  can,  so 
I  will  give  you,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  a  sketch 
of  our  state  machinery. 

I  have  mentioned  to  you  (I  believe)  that  the  divi- 
sion of  the  province  of  Quebec  into  Upper  and 
Lower  Canada  took  place  in  1791 ;  at  that  time  a 


106 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


'i'  i. '» 


ii'l    1   ' 


chartered  constitution  and  a  separate  executive  and 
legislative  government  were  conferred  on  each  pro- 
vince :  a  measure  well  intended,  doubtless,  but  of 
which  the  wisdom  was  more  than  doubtful,  when 
we  consider  the  results. 

Our  constitution  of  Upper  Canada  seems,  at  first 
view,  that  of  the  mother  country  in  miniature,  and 
identical  with  it.  For  instance,  we  have,  as  the  head 
of  our  executive,  a  governor,  subject,  in  his  military 
capacity,  to  the  governor-in-chief  of  Lower  Canada, 
but  in  all  other  respects  dependent  only  on  the 
government  at  home,  assisted  by  an  executive  coun- 
cil appointed  by  himself;  and  we  have  a  legislature 
composed  of  a  legislative  council,  nominated  by  the 
government,  and  a  house  of  assembly  delegated  by 
the  people.  These  different  branches  seem  to  re- 
present, not  unfitly,  the  sovereign,  the  cabinet  of 
ministers,  the  House  of  Lords,  and  the  House  of 
Commons,  in  England. 

But  there  are  some  important  distinctions  which 
tend  to  secure  the  dependence  of  the  provincial  le- 
gislature on  the  executive  government  at  home;  for 
I  do  not  know  that  our  parliament  has  hitherto  le- 
gislated for  the  colonies. 

When  Sir  Francis  Head  arrived  here  the  execu- 
tive council  consisted  of  five  ;  he  added  three  to  the 
number,  who  were  noted  Reformers.  About  three 
weeks  afterwards  this  executive  council  addressed 
to  the  governor  a  document,  in  which  they  assumed 
as  their  right  precisely  the  same  powers  and  respon- 
sibilities as  those  of  the  cabinet  ministers  at  homo, 
alleging,  that  although  nominated  by  the  governor, 


tr^^ 


.:k- 


;  n 


■''.■'i 


I 


CONSTITUTION   OF   CaNADA. 


107 


''.  m 


tliey  hold  themselves  responsible  to  the  will  of  the 
people. 

To  which  document  Sir  Francis  replied  to  this 
effect — "  that  though  the  constitution  of  the  colony 
resembled,  it  was  not  to  be  considered  as  identical 
with,  the  constitution  of  the  mother  country  : — that 
if  the    lieutenant-governor   stood   in  place    of  the 
sovereign — if,  like  the    sovereign,  he  could  do  no 
wrong,  then  it  would  be  evident  that  a  ministry,  an 
executive   council,    or   some   other  body  of  men, 
should  be  appointed,  who  might  be  responsible  to  the 
country  for  their  conduct.    But  this  was  not  the  case. 
The  lieutenant-governor  was  delegated  by  the  king, 
not  as  the  representative,  but  as  the  responsible  mi- 
nister of  the  sovereign,  subject   to  impeachment 
for  neglecting  the  interests  of  the  people,  and  liable 
to  immediate  recall ;  and  that,  under  such  circum- 
stances, to  render  the  lieutenant-governor  responsi- 
ble for  the  acts  of  an  executive  council,  which  was 
responsible  only  to  the  people,  was  a  manifest  in- 
justice, as  well  as  an  anomaly." 

All  which  seer^s  to  mo  a  very  clear  case  as  thus 
stated.  The  governor  also  denied  not  only  any 
right  or  power  of  his  own  to  alter  one  letter  or  iota 
of  the  coii->litution,  but  al!  power  in  the  united  le- 
gislature of  Upper  Canada  to  alter  or  improve  the 
political  constitution  of  the  country,  as  by  law  es- 
tablished, this  power  resting  only  with  the  execu- 
tive in  England.  From  all  which  it  appears,  as  far 
as  t  can  understand,  that  the  government  of  this  pro- 
vince is  not  derived  from  the  people  who  inhabit  it, 
nor  responsible  to  them  nor  their  delegates. 


108 


WINTEII  STUOIEIS. 


Immediately  on  receiving  this  answer,  the  six 
councillors  who  had  presented  the  document  or  re- 
monstrance above-mentioned,  resigned  their  seats 
in  the  council,  and  Sir  Francis  immediately  appoint- 
ed four  others.  The  president  of  the  executive 
coi'.ncil— that  is,  the  Premier  of  our  cabinet  of  mi* 
nisters — is  Mr.  Sullivan. 

The  legislative  council  varies  in  number  :  at  pre- 
sent there  are,  I  believe,  thirty  members.  Of  these, 
twenty-one  are  Scotch  and  Canadians,  and  nine 
English,  Irish,  and  Amei*icans.  They  represent 
the  aristocracy  of  the  country,  but  differ  from  the 
House  of  Lords,  in  not  being  herereditary ;  they 
are  nominated  for  life  by  the  governor.  The  speaker 
is  the  Chief  Justice  Robinson,  a  Tory  in  politics, 
and  a  very  able  and  accomplished  man. 

The  House  of  Assembly  consists  of  the  delegates 
of  the  people,  the  number  increasing  with  the  popu- 
lation. As  soon  as  the  number  of  inhabitants  in  a 
town  or  country  amounts  to  a  certain  number  fixed 
by  law,  they  have  the  right  of  choosing  one  or  two 
representatives  in  parlia.nient.  The  House  of  As- 
sembly consisted,  in  1831,  of  about  forty  members. 
At  present  there  are  twenty-two  counties  which  send 
each  two  members  to  parliament ;  three  counties 
which  send  only  one  member;  and  the  four  ridings 
of  York,  and  the  four  ridings  of  Lincoln,  each  one 
member;  and  seven  towns  each  one  member:  in  all 
sixty-two  members.  Of  these,  forty-four  are  Con- 
servative members,  and  eighteen  are  Reformers. 
In  the  former  House  of  Assembly,  dissolved  by  Sir 
Francis  Head  in  1836,  the  majority  were  Radicals, 


t 


^"'% 


THE    PROROGATION. 


109 


the  six 
nt  or  re- 
nr  seats 
ippoint- 
tecutive 
t  of  mi* 

at  pre* 
)f  these, 
nd  nine 
ypresent 
rem  the 
y;  they 
speaker 
politics, 

^legates 

e  popu- 

nts  in  a 

er  fixed 

or  two 

of  As- 

embers. 

ch  send 

ounties 

ridings 

ach  one 

':  in  all 

re  Con- 

brmers. 

by  Sir 

adicals, 


or  opposed  to  the  British  supremacy.  The  beat 
speakers  on  the  Conservative  side  are,  Hagerman, 
the  Solicitor-general,*  a  Tory  in  politics,  a  man  of 
great  ability  and  good  nature,  but  somewhat  coarse 
and  overbearing  in  character  and  manner  ;  Draper, 
the  member  for  Toronto,t  a  clever  active-minded 
man,  and  a  fluent  speaker ;  M'Nab,f  the  member 
for  Wentworth,  also  an  able  and  influential  man  of 
large  property  ;  and  Mr.  Prince,  member  for  Sand- 
wich, a  gentleman  educated  at  the  English  bar,  and 
of  very  superior  attainments,  liberal,  though  not  re- 
volutionary, in  principle.  On  the  opposition  side, 
the  cleverest  man  and  most  eloquent  speaker  is 
Dr.  Rolph. 

The  members  ar2  paid  for  their  attendance  during 
the  session  at  the  rate  of  ten  shillings  a-day. 

This  slight  sketch  will  give  you  some  general  idea 
of  the  political  constitution  and  the  state  of  parties 
in  Upper  Canada. 

The  prorogation  took  place  yesterday  at  three 
o'clock  ;  when  we  arrived  in  front  of  the  government 
offices  the  scene  was  very  striking.  The  snow-ex- 
panse was  all  around,  and  between  the  shore  of  the 
frozen  bay  and  the  line  of  building,  the  space  was 
filled  by  sleighs  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  the  horses 
curveting  and  kicking  up  the  snow,  and  a  crowd  of 
some  hundred  people  in  all  manner  of  strange  de- 
fences against  the  piercing  frost,  intermingled  with 

♦  Now  Attorney-general. 

t  Now  Solicitor-general. 

t  Afterwards  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Assembly. 

VOL.  I.  10 


m 
m 


•  if:  8 


■•■ 


110 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


!'(;. 


I       '<  > 


n 


military  costumes,  and  a  few  Indians  lounging  by 
in  their  blanket-coats  and  war-plumes. 

The  hall  >f  the  legislative  council  is  a  subject  of 
great  pride  to  the  Canadians.  It  is  certainly  a  spa- 
cious and  lofty  room,  with  a  splendid  throne  and 
the  usual  superfluity  of  gilding  and  varnish  ;  yet 
the  interior  decorations,  (the  admiration  of  the  peo- 
ple here,)  are  in  the  vilest  possible  taste — which 
critical  observation  I  make  in  no  offensive  spirit ; 
any  thing  which  is  attemjyted  here,  beyond  the  put- 
ting together  of  a  log-house,  is  praiseworthy.  We 
must  have  time — time  !  "  E  coll'  Tempo,  tutto  !" 
On  the  right  of  the  throne  sat  Chief  Justice  Robin- 
Bon  ;  he  has  a  fine  head  and  acute  features,  and  the 
most  pleasing,  insinuating  voice  I  ever  heard.  The 
judges  and  law  officers  of  the  crown  sat  at  a  table 
in  front,  and  the  other  members  of  the  legislative 
council  were  ranged  on  each  side.  My  proper  place 
was  on  the  right,  among  the  wives  of  the  officials, 
the  aristocracy  of  Toronto.  The  toilettes  around 
me  were  gay  and  pretty,  in  the  fashion  of  two  or 
three  years  ago,  and  all  the  ladies  showed  a  disposi- 
tion to  be  polite  and  amiable  ;  but  I  was  too  much 
a  stranger  to  join  in  the  conversation,  and  there 
were  none  near  me  to  give  me  any  necessary  expla* 
tion,  or  to  point  out  any  remarkable  or  distinguished 
persons,  if  there  were  such.  Among  the  spectators 
opposite  I  remarked  a  man  with  a  very  extraordi- 
nary head  and  countenance,  and  1  was  told  that  ho 
was  a  disciple  of  Edward  Irving,  and  a  preacher  of 
the  **  Unknown  Tongues,"  and  that  several  persons 


jj*^ 


THE    PROROGATION. 


Ill 


ring  by 

ject  of 
^  a  spa- 
»ne  and 
jh  ;  yet 
he  peo- 
-which 
spirit  J 
he  put- 
^.     We 
tutto  !" 
Robin- 
Eind  the 
1.     The 
a  table 
Tislative 
er  place 
Lifiicials, 
around 
two  or 
disposi- 
)o  much 
d  there 
y  expla* 
guished 
ectators 
Ltraordi- 
that  he 
acher  of 
persona 


in  Toronto,  even  members  of  the  council,  were  con- 
verts to  these  wild  doctrines. 

The  governor,  as  he  alighted,  was  enthusiastically 
cheered  by  the  populace — a  circumstance  rather 
unusual  of  late,  find  which  caused  a  good  deal  of 
excitement  and  exultation  around  me.  In  a  moment 
afterwards  he  entered  and  took  his  seat  on  the 
throne. 

As  an  official  representative,  Sir  Francis  has  not 
the  advantage  of  the  height,  fine  person,  and  mili- 
tary bearing  of  Sir  John  Colborne.  He  is  a  little 
man,  with  a  neat,  active  figure,  a  small  but  intelli- 
gent head,  grave  and  rather  acute  features ;  his 
bright  blue  eye  is  shrewd  and  quick,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  mingled  humor  and  benevolence,  and 
his  whole  deportment  in  the  highest  degree  unaf- 
fected and  pleasing. 

The  members  of  the  House  of  Assembly  being 
summoned,  appeared  below  the  bar,  and  the  gover- 
nor read  his  speech  over  with  very  disti'.ict  utter- 
ance and  much  quiet  self-possession.  He  I'ecapitu- 
lated  the  most  important  enactments  of  the  session, 
thanked  the  gentlemen  f)f  the  House  of  Assembly 
for  the  promptitude  witVi  which  they  had  relieved 
the  king's  government  from  the  embarrassment 
caused  by  the  supplies  having  been  withheld  by  the 
late  House  of  Assembly,  and  ended  by  congratu- 
lating both  Houses  on  the  harmony,  confidence,  and 
tranquillity  which  prevailed  generally  throughout 
the  province. 

The  titles  of  the  various  bills  passed  during  the 
session  were  then  read  ;  they  amounted  to  one  hun- 


I  I 


i 


I  I  » 


l> 


m 


linf 


I 


I 


i   ■ 


r 


J  I 


II' 


:il 


■»  i'l 


t 


I 


m 


P\ 


112 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


I 

1 

I: 


E', 


III 


f! 


(    ! 


dred  and  forty-seven ;  the  reading  occupied  about 
an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Among  them  were  a  few 
which  especially  fixed  my  attention. 

For  instance,  there  was  an  act  for  making  the 
remedy  in  cases  of  seduction  more  effectual,  and 
for  the  provision   of  children  born  out  of  wedlock 
by  the  supposed  fathers,  &e.     This  bill  originated 
in  the  legislative  council,  and  it  is  worthy  of  remark 
that  they  are  enacting  here,  a  law,  which  in  England 
has  been   lately  repealed,  and  which   Sir  Francis 
Head  himself   has   openly  condemned.     You    re- 
member the  outcry  which  was  raised  against  that 
provision  of  the  new  poor  law  act,  which    made 
women  solely  answerable  for  the  consequences  cf 
their  own  misconduct — misconduct,  into  which,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  they  are  betrayed  by  the  con- 
ventional license  granted   to  the  other  sex ;  but  I, 
as  a  woman,  with  a  heart  full  of  most  compassionate 
tenderness  for  the  wretched  and  the  erring  among 
my  aister  women,   do  slill  aver  that  the  first  step 
towards  our  moral  emancipation,  is  that  law  wiiich 
shall  leave  us  the  sole  responsible  guardians  of  our 
own  honor  and  chastity  ;  it  may  seem  at  first  view 
most  pitiable  that   not  only  the  ban  of  society,  but 
also    the   legal  liabilities,   should   fall   on  the  least 
guilty  ;  and  hard  indeed  will  be  the  fate  of  many  a 
poor,  ignorant  delinquent,  for  the  next  few  years, 
unless  those  women  who  take  a  generous  and  ex- 
tended view  of  the  whole  question,  be  pre[)ared  to 
soften  the  horrors  that  will  ensue  by  individual  help 
and   acts  of  mercy  ;  but  let  the  tendency  of  such 
q,,n  enactment,  such  a  public  acknowledgment  of  th^ 


1: 


I 


I   1 


M 


d  about 
e  a  few 

iing  the 

lual,  and 

wedlock 

•iginated 

f  remark 

England 

Francis 

You    re- 

inst  that 

;h    made 

ences  cf 

>'lnch,  in 

the  con- 

;  but  I, 

issionate 

g  among 

irst  step 

,v  which 

s  of  our 

rst  view 

ty,  but 

ho  least 

many  a 

w  years, 

and  ex- 

lared  to 

ual  help 

of  such 

It  of  thg 


ACTS    OP    THE    LEfilSLATUnE. 


113 


le 


moral  and  legal  responsibility  of  women,  bo  once 
understood,  let  it  once  be  brought  into  action,  and  I 
am  sure  the  result  will  bo  the  general  benefit  and 
elevation  of  the  whole  sex  ;  it  brings  the  only  re- 
medy to  this  hateful  mischief  which  can  be  brought ; 
the  lest  remains  with  ourselves.  The  best  boon 
we  could  ask  of  our  masters  and  legislators,  is  to  be 
left  in  all  cases  responsible  for  our  own  actions  and 
our  own  debts. 

Another  act  provided  two  additional  judges  of 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  and  other  law  improve- 
ments, by  which  the  gaol  deliveries  were  rendered 
more  frequent,  and  the  long  and  demoralizing  im- 
prisonment, previous  to  trial  and  conviction,  would 
be  shortened.  This  sounds  well.  I  should  ob- 
serve, that  by  all  accounts  the  gaols  in  this  province 
are  in  a  very  bad  state,  and  require  revision  alto- 
gether. 

Another  act  established  a  provincial  court  of 
equity,  rendered  necessary  by  the  nature  of  the 
land  tenures  here,  and  to  secure  in  the  possession 
of  their  property,  those  whose  titles,  honestly  ac- 
quired, were  defective  from  mistake,  ignorance,  or 
accident ;  also  to  punish  frauds  and  breaches  of 
trust,  beyond  the  reach  of  common  law.  I  was 
rather  surprised  to  find  that  this  act  gave  to  the  pre- 
siding Chancellor  even  larger  powers  than  those  of 
the  Lord  Chancellor  at  home.  It  signifies  nothing 
now,  when  there  is  nothing  on  which  these  powers 
can  be  exercised  ;  but  it  will  signify  much,  fifty  or 
a  hundred  years  hence,  as  society  becomes  more 

10* 


:  l\ 


<•  I..., 


i^:i  I 


i\\ 


n 


■fi 


114 


"»VM\TF,R    SITDIKS. 


complex  and  artificial,  and  llie  rights  of  property/ 
more  intricate. 

The  chancellor  will  have  power  to  repeal  (or, 
what  comes  to  the  same  thing,  institute  proceed- 
ino's  to  repeal)  all  letters  patent  iDqo-ovidently 
granted :  an  indefinite  and  dangerous  power  in 
bad  hands. 

Another  act  was  to  amend  the  charter  of  the 
University  of  Upper  Canada.  The  House  of  As- 
sembly, in  addressing  tlie  governor  at  the  opening 
of  the  session,  had  expressed  their  regret,  that  "  no 
useful  result  had  hitherto  attended  the  beneficent 
intentions  of  his  majesty  in  granting  a  charter  to 
King's  College,  and  their  hope  that  the  province 
would  shoitly  possess  the  means  witliiu  itself  of  be- 
stowing upon  the  young  a  refined  and  liberal  edu- 
cation." 

Next  to  the  clergy  reserves,  there  is  no  question 
which  has  been  debated  so  long  and  so  vehemently, 
as  this  of  an  endowed  university.  Forty  years  ago, 
in  1797,  the  establishment  of  such  an  institution 
v/as  recommended  in  an  address  from  tlje  provin- 
cial legislature  to  the  Britisli  government,  but  it 
was  not  till  1S2S  that  the  charter  was  sent  over.  On 
this  occasion,  the  legislative  council  thanked  his 
majesty's  government  humbly  and  gratefully  for 
such  a  munificent  proof  of  jiaternal  regard.  The 
House  of  Assembly,  on  the  contrary,  made  their 
gratitude  conditional— "  provided  that  the  princi- 
ples upon  which  the  cliarter  has  been  founded 
shall,  upon  inquiry,  prove  to  be  conducive  to 
the    advancement   of  true   learning  and  piety,  and 


'  ! 


aP^ 


I 


:i 


ACTS    OF    TIIK    LEGISLATURE. 


no 


property 

;poal  (or, 
pvoccecl- 
•ovidently 
)0vver   in 

3r  of  the 
;e  of  As- 
I  opening 
that  "  no 
jcncficent 
harter  to 
I  province 
self  of  be- 
heral  edu- 

)  question 
lomently, 
years  ago, 
Mstitution 
e  proviu- 
iwi,  but  it 
over.  On 
inked   his 
c fully  for 
II a.  'The 
ade   their 
10  princi- 
founded 
lucive    to 
)ietY,  and 


friendly  to   the  civil    and   religious  liberty  of  the 
people." 

In  wliat    might   consist  "  the   civil  and  religious 
liberty  of  the   people"  was   not   so  easily   agreed. 
The  first  charter,  modelled  after  those  of  our  Eng- 
lish universities,  was   deemed    too   exclusive  for  a 
young  country  like    this,  and  became  a  source  of 
contention  and  dissatisfaction.     The  bills  to  alter 
and  amend  the  terms  of  the  charter  sent  up  by  tho 
House  of  Assembly,  were  always  thrown  out  by  the 
lesislativc  council,  and  thus  matters  remained  until 
this  session.      The  act  just  passed  abolishes  the  ne- 
cessity of  any  religious  test  or  qualification  what- 
ever in  those  who  enter  as  scholars,  and  places  the 
establishment    under    tlie    partial   control    of  the 
judges  and  legislature,  instead  of  the  exclusive  di- 
rection of  the  clergy.     The   presidency  of  the  uni- 
versity remains   with    Archdeacon   Strahan,  but  for 
the  future  the  president  shall  not   necessarily  hold 
any   ecclesiastical    oflice.       Two   members  of  the 
legislative  council   have    entered  a  formal  protest 
against   this   Act ;  they   objected    that  lialf  of  the 
lands  which  had  been  granted  for  the  election  of 
free  grammar  schools  throughout  the  diflerent  dis- 
tricts, amounting  to  two  hundred  and  twenty-five 
thousand  acres,  had  been  given  up  to  the  endow- 
ment of  the  university,  and   that  these  free- schools 
not  being  yet  erected,  this  was  a  misapplication  of 
tho  school-lands ;   and  that   after  such  two  hundred 
and  twenty-five  thousand  acres  had  been  applied  to 
the  uses  of  the  university,  the  residue  of  the  school- 
lands  would  not  suffice  for  the  purpose  of  erecting 


-J- 


i4«rW 


I! 


Ml 


m 


fill 


116 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


f  i 
y;  I'l 


^[ 


?-i: 


Ml' 


\i 

riji 


■',  'I 


freo-seminaries,  being  of  a  bad  quality ;  nearly 
eighty  thousand  acres  of  the  lands  originally  allot- 
ted for  the  maintenance  of  schools  having  been  ex- 
changed for  other  lands  of  a  worse  quality,  and  less 
eligibly  situated :  that  the  benefits  of  a  good  edu- 
cation, instead  of  being  equally  diffused  through  the 
province,  were  confined  to  one  large  and  expensive 
establishment — too  expensive  for  the  population  and 
wants  of  the  country." 

Notwithstanding  these  objections,  and  the  others 
made  by  the  Tory  and  high  church  party,  the  act 
has  passed  after  vehement  debates,  and  I  presume 
that  the  erection  of  the  new  university  will  be  com- 
menced forthwith. 

Another  act  was  for  the  establishment  of  agricul- 
tural societies,  antl  the  encouragement  of  agriculture 
in  the  several  districts.  There  are  already  agricul- 
tural societies  in  one  or  two  districts,  and  whenever 
a  certain  sum  of  money  was  subscribed  by  the  peo- 
ple, for  such  a  purpose,  the  government  assisted 
them  with  a  further  sum  of  one  hundred  pounds 
and  upwards. 

Various  bills  wc.c  passed,  voting  sums  of  money 
for  the  mending  of  roads  ;  the  improvement  of  the 
harbors  and  light-houses  on  the  lakes  ;  the  comple- 
tion of  the  great  Welland  Canal,  which  unites  Lake 
Ontario  with  Lake  Erie  ;  and  the  opening  of  a  great 
northern  and  western  railway  to  connect  Lake  Hu- 
ron with  Lake  Ontario.  All  this  is  very  well ;  but, 
as  H.said  this  morning,  where  is  the  money  to  come 
from  1  It  has  become  difficult  to  raise  loans  ;  and 
individuals  do  not  willingly  speculate  in  this  coun- 


■p- 


ACTS    OF    THE    LEGISLATURE. 


117 


nearly 
ily  allot- 
)een  ex- 
and  less 
0(1  edu- 
)ugh  the 
cpensive 
ition  and 

le  others 

,  the  act 

presume 

be  com- 

ajrricul- 
riculture 

agricul- 
.^henever 
the  peo- 

assisted 

pounds 

money 
It  of  the 
comple- 
es  Lake 
a  great 
ke  Hu- 
ll ;  but, 
to  come 
IS  ;  and 
is  coun- 


try. That  all  these  things  will  be  done  at  some 
time  or  other  is  certain — certain  as  that  the  sun 
holds  his  course  in  heaven,  but  some  changes  must 
take  place  before  speculation  on  a  large  scale  be- 
comes either  secure  or  profitable. 

A  very  important  act  was  one  introducing  an  im- 
proved svstem  into  the  land  granting  department; 
but  the  law,  as  explained  to  me,  remains  defective; 
all  the  arrangements  of  our  domestic  policy  are  such 
as  to  render  it  difficult  and  inexpedient  for  aliens  to 
buy  or  hold  land  in  this  province,  and  even  to  Bri- 
tish subjects  the  terms  are  not  s»  favorable  as  in  the 
United  States.  Mr.  Prince  brought  in  a  bill  this 
session  for  encouraging  settlers  from  all  pirts  of 
the  world,  permitting  aliens  to  acquire  and  hold 
lands  on  easier  terms  than  at  present,  and  to  claim  the 
rights  of  citizenship  after   a  three  years'  residence. 

"  Every  one,"  said  he,  "  knows  well,  though  I 
am  almost  afraid  to  mention  it  in  this  place,  that 
countless  numbers  of  (lerman,  Swiss,  and  even  Bri- 
tish emigrants  passed,  during  the  summer  of  1836, 
throiigii  Canada  to  the  western  parts  of  the  United 
States,  and  that  none  ( ould  be  prevailed  on  to  stop 
an  I  settle  in  this  province,  tliough  the  fertility  of 
the  lands,  and  all  other  natural  advantages,  are  con- 
fessedly greater  here,  and  the  distance  saved  from 
five  to  seven  hundred  miles."* 

*  The  usiinl  route  of  the  omis^rants  to  the  New  Western 
Spates,  is  throu^li  th;;  Slate  of  Niiw  York,  by  the  Erie  Canal, 
pussiii*^  the  iSiagara  Rivor  at  Clufenston,  and  then  through  the 
finest  parts  of  Upper  Cuiada  to  Detroit,  in  Michiijan.  The 
number  of  the  emigrants  and.  settlers  who  pasjsed  through  Co.•^ 


.'  f. 


ffl-S 


n 


Ill 


M  * 


118 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


VI' 


i  I 

I  if 


11 


1 
II  <l 


liif 


This  bill  was  violently  opposed,  upon  the  ground 
that  it  would  introduce,  as  settlers,  an  immense 
number  of  foreigners  hostile  to  the  principles  of  the 
British  constitution.  None  denied  that  it  would 
introduce  both  population  and  capital,  and  that 
"  men,  women,  and  money,"  being  the  three  wants 
of  the  country,  it  would  tend  to  supply  these  wants. 
With  regard  to  the  danger  to  our  constitution,  from 
the  admission  of  aliens  educated  in  different  princi- 
ples, one  member  made  some  shrewd  and  pertinent 
observations,  in  a  very  homely  style.  "  We  pro- 
fess," said  he,  "  to  desire  emigration,  yet  we  prohi- 
bit virtually  nine-tenths  of  the  world  from  setting 
their  foot  on  our  shores  ;  and  why  ?  Because  these 
foreigners,  naturally  republicans,  would  naturally 
overturn  our  institutions.  Now  all  foreigners  are 
not  republicans  ;  the  Swiss,  Prussians  and  other 
Germans,  who  pass  through  our  country  in  multi- 
tudes, and  cannot  be  persuaded  to  set  up  their  rest 
here,  are  more  friendly  to  our  British  institutions 
than  to  those  of  the  United  States  ;  and  if  it  were 
otherwise,  it  is  a  poor  compliment  to  our  govern- 
ment and  institutions,  to  say  that  they  suffer  from 
comparison,  and  that  they  who  have  enjoyed  any 
other  will  not  endure  existence  under  ours.  We 
are  told  that  the  Americans  offer  cverv  inducement 
to  foreigners  and  British  subjects  to  settle  in  their 
new  states  ;  and  we  do  not  find  that  the  monarchical 
pretlilections  of  these  emigrants  load  them  to  dis- 
turb the  government  of  their  new  country,"  &;c.  Sec. 


nndrt  to  tlio  Wo.steni  States,  in  18o5  and  183(5,  has  been  esti- 
muted  at  'JOO.OOO. 


!    ( 


ill'i 


li 


ACTS    OP   THE    LEGISLATURE. 


119 


le  ground 
immense 
(les  of  the 
it  would 
and  that 
ree  wants 
ese  wants, 
ition,  from 
entprinci- 
1  pertinent 
'  We  pro- 
;  we  prohi- 
om  setting 
cause  these 
[1  naturally 
signers  are 
and  other 
y  in  multi- 
p  their  rest 
institutions 
if  it  were 
)ur  govern- 
IsufVer  from 
ijoyed  any 
ours.     We 
iulucement 
le  in  their 
onarchical 
lem  to  dis- 
,"  &c.  &c. 

Ilms  been  esti- 


This  bill  passed  the  House  of  Assembly,  and  was 
lost  in  the  Legislative  Council.  The  fate  of  Texas 
was  adduced  as  an  example  of  the  consequences  of 
suffering  foreign  capitalists  to  speculate  in  the 
lands  of  Canada ;  but  every  one  agrees  that  some- 
thing must  be  done  to  attract  to  the  province  emi- 
grants of  a  higher  grade  than  the  Scotch  and  Irish 
paupers  who  now  locate  themselves  on  small  por- 
tions of  land,  and  who  aid  but  little  in  developing 
the  immense  resources  of  this  magnificent  country. 
It  is  in  the  second  generation  that  this  class  of  peo- 
ple make  useful  and  eligible  settlers. 

The  vital  question  of  the  clergy  reserves  remains 
as  yet  unsettled  by  law  ;  the  motion  for  establishing 
fifty-seven  endowed  rectories  within  the  province, 
exercising  all  powers,  and  privileges,  and  jurisdic- 
tion, which  by  the  ecclesiastical  law  belongs  to  the 
Church  of  England,  gave  rise  to  a  most  violent  and 
abusive  debate  in  the  House  of  Assembly,  which 
ended  in  the  motion  being  lost ;  but  the  House  re- 
solve:^, "hat  "  the  rights  acquired  under  the  patents, 
by  which  certain  rectories  have  already  been  endow- 
ed, should  be  considered  inviolate." 

An  Act,  for  a  limited  time,  to  impose  an  addi- 
tional duty  on  licenses  to  vend  spirituous  liquors,  can 
do  but  little  good  in  the  present  state  of  society 
here.  You  might  as  well  think  to  dam  up  a  torrent 
with  a  bundle  of  reeds,  or  put  out  a  conflagration 
with  a  cup  of  water,  as  attempt  to  put  down  drunk- 
enness and  vice  by  such  trifling  measures. 

I  was  in  hopes  that  some  Act  would  have  passed 
this  session  for  the  erection  of  a  provincial  lunatic 


SI 


11 


m 


120 


WINTER    STtJDISS. 


asylum.  At  present  these  unfortunate  persons 
either  wander  about  uncared  for,  or  are  shut  up  in 
the  jails.  Instances  are  known  of  pauper  lunatics 
straying  into  the  forests,  and  perishing  there.  The 
fate  of  those  confined  in  tlie  prisons  is  not  better; 
the  malady  is  prolonged  and  aggravated  by  the  horrid 
species  of  confinement  to  which,  in  such  places 
these  wretched  beings  are  necessarily  subjected. 
A  benevolent  physician  of  this  place  (Dr.  Rees)  has 
offered  a  block  of  land  a  few  miles  from  Toronto 
for  the  site  of  an  hospital  or  asylum  for  lunatics,  but 
at  present  it  seems  the  intention  of  the  legislature 
to  take  the  penitentiary  at  Kingston  for  a  lunatic 
asylum,  and  erect  another  penitentiary  on  a  differ- 
ent plan.  Jn  the  mean  time  this  dreadful  evil  con- 
tinues—  mvst  continue  for  two  or  three  years  longer; 
and  think  what  an  amount  of  individual  suffering 
may  be  crowded  into  this  period  !  When  I  was  at 
Niagara  there  was  a  maniac  in  the  jail  there,  who 
had  been  chained  up  for  four  years.  Here  was  mi- 
sery of  the  most  pitiable  kind  suffering  all  the  pains 
and  penalties  of  crime — nay,  far  more,  for  the 
worst  criminals  had  a  certain  degree  of  liberty.  In 
the  town  jail  of  Toronto,  four  insane  persons  are  at 
this  time  in  confinement. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  this  state  of  things  is 
not  worse  than  that  which  prevailed  in  rich  and  civil- 
ized England  only  a  few  years  ago. 

Good  night!  for  my  sjiirits  are  wearied  and  my 
fingers  are  frozen. 


F> 


i 


'iJ 


FEMALE    CHARACTER. 


121 


March  6. 
As  light  was  the  eldest-born  principle  of  the  uni- 
verse, so  love  was  the  eldest-born  passion  of  hu- 
manity, though  people  quote  Milton  to  prove  that 
vanity  was  so — in  our  own  sex  at  least :  and  many 
are  the  witty  sayings  on  this  favorite  text;  but  they 
are  wrong,  and  their  text  misinterpreted.  Eve, 
when  she  looked  in  passionate  delight  on  her  own 
lovely  face  reflected  in  the  stream,  knew  not  it  was 
her  own,  and  had  nothing  else  to  love  ;  the  moment 
she  found  an  Adam  on  whom  to  lavish  the  awaken- 
'cd  sympathies,  she  turned  from  the  shadow  to  th« 
reality,  even  though  "  less  winning  soft,  less  amiably 
fair :"  she  did  not  sit  upon  the  bank  and  pine  to 
■death  for  her  own  fair  face, 


•w  ;t  ii 


\U 


mga  13 
d  civil- 


i 


"  Like  tliat  too  beauteous  boy, 
That  lost  himself  by  loving  of  himself;" 

— while  the  voice  of  love  wooed  her  in  vain.     Vani- 
ty in  this  instance  was  but  the  sliadow  of  love. 

But,  O  me!  how  many  women  since  the  days  of 
Echo  and  Narcissus,  have  pined  themselves  into  air 
for  the  love  of  men  who  were  in  love  only  with 
themselves  ! 


Where  the  vivacity  of  the  intellect  and  the 
strength  of  the  passions,  exceed  the  development 
of  the  moral  faculties,  the  character  is  likely  to  be 
embittered  or  corrupted  by  extremes,  either  of  ad- 
versity or  prosperity.     This  is  especially  the  case 

VOL.   I,  11 


mmi 


'.•i,i 


m  I 

i     '     Iff 


:,.    !i 


iHti 


122 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


I   m 


"r    t 


with  women  ;  but  as  far  as  my  own  observation  and 
experience  go,  1  should  say  that  many  more  women 
have  their  heads  turned  by  prosperity  than  theifr 
hearts  spoiled  by  adversity ;  and,  in  general,  the 
female  character  rises  with  the  pressure  of  ill  for- 
tune. Sir  James  Mackintosh  says  somewhere, 
"  That  almost  every  woman  is  either  formed  in  the 
school  or  tried  by  the  test  of  adversity :  it  may  be 
more  necessary  to  the  greatness  of  the  female  cha- 
lacter  than  that  of  men." 

And  why  sol — I  understand  the  first  part  of  this 
sentence,  but  not  the  last.  Why  should  the  test  of 
adversity  be  more  necessary  to  the  greatness  of  the 
female  character  than  that  of  men  1  The  perpetual, 
and  painful,  and  struggling  collision  of  man  with 
man  forms  and  tries  him  ;  woman  has  little  compul- 
sory collision  with  woman  j  our  equals  are  our  most 
severe  schoolmasters ;  and  the  tyranny  of  circum- 
stances supplies  this  icaiit  to  women. 


'I  *  1. 


March  8. 

Before  the  languid  heart  gasp  and  flutter  itself  to 
death,  like  a  bird  in  an  exhausted  receiver,  let  us 
see  what  can  be  done,  for  something  must  be  done. 

This  relentless  winter  seems  to  stiffen  and  con- 
tract every  nerve,  and  the  frost  is  of  that  fier.:enes9 
and  intensity,  that  it  penetrates  even  to  the  marrow 
of  one's  bones.  One  of  the  workmen  told  me  yes- 
erday,  that  on  taking  hold  of  an  iron  bar  it  had  ta- 
ken  the  skin  off  his  hand,  as  if  he  had  grasped  it 


n  and 
omen 
their 
1,  the 
11  for- 
vhcre, 
in  the 
nay  be 
le  cha- 

of  this 
test  of 
i  of  the 
[•petual, 
m  with 
:ompul- 
mr  most 
circum- 


larch  H. 
itself  to 

r,  let  us 

)e  (lone. 

nd  con- 
rccnesa 
marrow 

me  yes- 
had  ta- 
as  peel  it 


DEJECTION. 


123 


red  hot :  it  is  a  favorite  trick  with  the  children  to 
persuade  each  other  to  touch  with  the  tongue 
a  piece  of  metal  which  has  been  exposed  to  the 
open  air ;  adhesion  takes  place  immediately : 
even  the  metal  knobs  on  the  doors  of  the  room  I 
carefully  avoid  touching — the  contact  is  worse  than 
unpleasant. 

Let  but  the  spring  come  again,  and  I  will  take  to 
myself  wings  and  fly  off  to  the  west !  But  will  spring 
ever  come  ?  When  I  look  out  upon  the  bleak, 
shrouded,  changeless  scene,  there  is  something  so 
awfully  silent,  fixed,  and  immutable  in  its  aspect, 
that  it  is  enough  to  disturb  one's  faith  in  the  ever- 
lasting revolutions  of  the  seasons.  Green  leaves 
and  flowers,  and  streams  that  murmur  as  they  flow, 
soft  summer  airs,  to  which  we  open  the  panting  bo- 
som— panting  with  too  much  life — shades  grate- 
ful for  their  coolness — can  such  things  be,  or  do  they 
exist  only  in  poetry  and  Paradise  1 

If  it  were  not  for  this  journalizing,  I  should  fall 
into  a  lethargy — as  it  is  I  could  envy  a  i  larmot  or  a 
dormouse  ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  my  promise  to  you, 
I  should  even  abandon  this  daily  noting  of  daily 
nothings,  of  which  I  begin  to  be  thoroughly  asham- 
ed. One  day  is  only  distinguishable  from  another 
by  the  degrees  of  the  thermometer.  Nor  can  I, 
while  imprisoned  by  this  relentless  climate, seek  the 
companionship  and  sympathy  which  stand  aloof — 
for  no  other  reason  that  I  can  guess — but  because 
T  come  among  them  branded  with  notoriety.  I 
wished  to  throw  open  my  house  in  the  evening,  and 
break  or  thaw  the  social  frost  around  me  ;  but  su^sh 


if 


I'M 


f  ,1 


■t: 


»T  " 


'ill  •iiii""-'''"*— nr 


224 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


II!  ] 


m  i: 


ill  ' 


i        .!  il»    . 


a  novel  and  unheard  of  idea  would  startle  all  the 
inhabitants  Lorn  their  propriety.  There  must  be 
here,  as  elsewhere,  kind-hearted,  good  people,  if 
only  they  would  be  natural,  and  not  afraid  or*  eacb 
other — and  of  poor,  solitary  me.  However,  in  the 
strait  in  which  I  am  placed  there  is  still  a  remedy. 

"  Books,  dreams,  are  each,  a  world ;  ".nd  the  books  we  know- 
Are  a  substantial  world." 

A  world  ever  at  hand.  I  must  try  all  mechanical 
me^ns  to  maintain  the  balance  of  my  mind,  and  the 
unimpaired  use  of  my  faculties,  for  tbey  'viH  be 
needed.  There  is  no  rescue  but  in  occupation ; 
serious  and  useful  occupation  if  I  can  make  or  find 
it — trivial  occupation  when  I  can  not.  The  desul- 
tory reading  in  which  I  have  lately  indulged  will 
never  do  ;  I  must  look  round  for  something  to  try 
my  strength-  -and  force  and  fix  my  attention.  To 
use  my  Lord  Byron's  phrase,.  I  must  get  "  a  file  for 
tbe  serpent." 


iin 


March  10. 

I  have  found  ajile,  or  what  I  will  use  as  such.  I 
shall  take  to  translating. 

I  brought  from  Weimar  Dr.  Ekermann^s  book,* 
which,  as  yet,  I  have  only  glanced  over  in  parts  ; 
by  this  time  it  must  be  well  known  all  over  the 
world  of  literature.     When  I  left  Weimar  it  was 


♦  Gesprdche  mit  Goethe.    (Conversatious  wkhGoothe.) 


QOETHB    AND    EKERMANN. 


125 


not  yet  published.  There,  niy  atteni  wus 
strongly  directed  to  this  book,  not  so  much  by  the 
interest,  as  by  the  hind  of  interest  it  had  excited 
around  me.  I  remember  one  of  Goethe's  gi-and- 
sons,  turning  over  the  leaves  as  it  lay  on  my  table, 
and  exclciiming  witVi  animation — "  Es  ist  der  Gross- 
papa  selbst !  da  lebt  er  ! — da  spriclit  er!"  (It  is 
grand-papa  himself !  —  here  he  lives — he  speaks!") 

Another,  habitually  intimate  with  the  domestic 
life  of  Goethe,  said,  with  emotion — "  Es  ist  das 
Buch  von  Liobe  und  Wahrheit."  (It  is  the  book  of 
love  and  truth.) 

"  Whatever  may  he  in  that  book,"  said  a  dear 
friend  of  mind,  when  she  placed  it  in  my  hands,  "  I 
would  pledge  myself  beforehand  for  its  truth.  The 
mind  of  Ekermann,  at  once  unsullied  and  unruffled 
by  all  contact  with  the  world,  is  so  constituted,  that 
he  could  not  perceive  or  speak  other  than  the  truth, 
any  more  than  a  perfectly  clear  and  smooth  mirror 
could  reflect  a  false  or  a  distorted  imaore." 

Now  all  this  was  delightful !  The  sort  of  praise 
one  does  not  often  h?ar  either  of  a  book  or  a  writer 
— and  so,  to  read  I  do  most  seriously  incline. 

I  read  the  preface  to-day.  and  part  of  the  intro- 
duction. 

In  the  preface,  Ekermann  says,  very  beautifully, 
"  When  I  think  of  the  fulness,  the  richness  of  those 
communications,  which  for  nine  years  formed  my 
chief  happiness,  and  now  perceive  how  little  of  all 
I  have  been  able  to  preserve  in  writing,  I  feel  like  a 
child  who  seeks  to  catch  in  his  open  hands  the  plen- 

11* 


■'At 


V:i  '   4 


\',\\ 


i  ;:'■  'I: 


III!  i 


126 


WINTER    STtriirlES,. 


'"( 


I, 


I 


if 


\hi 


teous  showers  of  spring,  and  finds  that  the  greatest! 
part  has  escaped  through  his  fingers/' 

A  little  farther  on  he  says — "  I  am  far  from  be- 
lieving that  I  have  here  unveiled  the  whole  inward 
being  of  Goethe,  (der  ganze  innere  Goethe.)  One 
may  liken  this  most  wonderful  spirit  to  a  many- 
sided  diamond,  which  in  every  direction  reflected  a 
different  hue  ;  and  as  in  his  ititcrcourse  with  different 
J  ersons,  in  different  positions,  he  would  himself  ap- 
pear diflerent — I  can  only  say  modestly — "  This  is 
MY  Goethe  !" 

This  may  be  said  with  truth  of  every  character, 
viewed  through  the  mind  of  another  ■,  of  every 
portrai:  of  thesame  individual  painted  by  a  different 
artist. 

And  not  only  where  we  have  to  deal  with  marked 
and  distinguished  characters,  but  in  the  common  in- 
tercourse of  life  we  should  do  well  to  take  this  dis- 
tinction into  account;  and  or.  :l.is  principle,!  would 
never  judge  a  character  by  hearsay,  nor  venture 
further,  even  in  my  own  judgment,  than  to  admit 
that  such  a  person  T  like  and  such  another  I  do  «oi* 
like.  In  the  last  case  the  fault,  the  deficiency,  the' 
cause,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  as  probably  on  my 
side  as  on  theirs  ;  and  though  this  may  sound  offen- 
sive and  arbitrary,  it  is  more  just  than  saying  such  a 
one  is  worthless  or  disagreeable,  for  the  first  I  can 
never  know,  and  as  for  the  latter,  the  most  disa- 
greeable people  I  ever  met  with  had  those  who 
loved  them,  and  thought  them,  no  doubt  with  reason^ 
very  agreeable. 

01  a  very  great,  and  at  the  same  time  complex 


GOETME    AND    EKERMANN. 


ir 


mind,  we  should  Le  careful  not  to  trust  entirely  to 
any  one  portrait,  even  though  from  the  life,  and  of 
undoubted  truth.  Johnson,  as  he  appears  in  Bos- 
well,  is,  I  tiiink,  the  only  perfectly  ind;vl("ualized 
portrait  I  remember;  and  hence  the  vricious  and 
often  inconsistent  eftect  it  produces.  One  moment 
he  is  an  object  of  awe,  the  next  of  ridicule :  we 
love,  we  venerate  him  on  this  page — on  the  next  we 
despise,  we  ablior  him.  Here  he  gives  out  oracles 
and  lessons  of  wisdom  surpassing  those  of  the  sages 
of  old  ;  and  tliere  we  see  him  grunting  over  his 
favorite  dish,  and  "  trundling^'  the  meat  down  his 
throat  like  a  Hottentot.  ]>ut  in  tlie  end,  such  is 
the  influence  of  truth,  when  we  ca7i  have  the  whole 
of  it,  that  we  dismiss  Johnson  like  a  friend,  to 
whose  disagreeable  habits  and  peculiarities  we  had 
become  accustomed,  while  his  sterling  virtues  had 
Avon  our  respect  and  confidence.  If  1  had  seen 
Johnson  ouce,  I  should  probably  have  no  impression, 
but  that  made  on  my  imagination  by  his  fame  and 
his  austere  wisdom,  and  should  remain  awe-struck  ; 
at  the  second  interview  I  might  have  disliked  him. 
But  Bos  well  has  given  me  a  friend,  and  I  love  the 
old  fellow,  though  I  cannot  love  his  bull-dog  man- 
ners, and  worse  than  bull-dog  pre'judices. 

Were  it  possible  to  have  of  Goethe  as  universal, 
many-sided,  and  faithful  a  picture,  it  would  1 3 
something  transcendent  in  interest ;  but  I  do  not 
think  he  had  a  Boswell  near  him,  nor  any  one,  I 
imagine,  who  would  be  inclined  to  buy  immortality 
at  the  same  price  with  that  worthy  ;  at  least,  Eker- 
manu  does  not  seem  such  a  man.* 

*  A  lady,  a  near  and  dear  relation  of  Goethe,  who  had  lived 


5  8», 


< 


IJB 


liivt!, 


11 


\\ 


i!    \- 


ii 


t 


128 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


The  account  of  himself  in  the  introduction  is  the 
most  charming  little  bit  of  autobiography  I  have 
ever  met  with  ;  it  is  written  to  account  for  his  first 
introduction  to,  and  subsequent  intercourse  with, 
Goethe,  and  is  only  too  short.  The  perfect  simpli- 
city and  modesty,  yet  good  taste  and  even  elegance 
of  this  little  history,  arc  quite  captivating.  The 
struggles  of  a  ])Oor  German  scholar,  the  secret  aspi- 
rations, the  feelings,  the  sorrows,  the  toils,  the  hard- 
ships, of  a  refined  and  gentle  spirit,  striving  with 
obscurity  and  vulgar  cares  and  poverty,  are  all 
briefly  but  graphically  touched — a  sketch  only,  yet 
full  of  life  and  truth.  Ji^kerman'^,  it  seems,  was  the 
son  of  a  poor  cottager  and  pediar,  residing,  when 

for  very  many  years  iu  the  closest  coininuiiion  \vi»!i  liini,  was 
pressed  by  aiguineiits  and  sjilciidid  ofl'ersof  enioliunrnt  to  give 
to  the  world  the  domestic  life  of  the  poet,  or  at  least  contribute 
some  notes,  with  regard  to  his  private  conversations  and  opi- 
nions. Slie  refused  at  once  and  decidedly.  "  I  iiad,"  said  she, 
"  several  reasons  for  this.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  not  a  good 
memory,  and  I  have  a  very  lively  imai;:ination :  I  could  not 
always  trust  myself.  What  I  should  say  would  be  something 
very  near  the  truth,  and  very  like  the  truth,  but  would  it  be  the 
truth  ?  How  could  I  send  into  the  world  a  book,  of  the  exact 
truth  of  which  I  could  not  in  my  own  conscience,  and  to  my 
own  conviction,  be  assured?  A  second  reason  was,  that 
Goethe  did  not  die  young;  I  could  not  do  him  any  justice  he 
was  unable  to  do  himself,  by  telling  the  world  what  he  irovld 
have  done,  what  he  could  have  fione,  or  what  he  had  intended 
to  do,  if  lime  had  been  given.  lie  lived  long  enough  to  accom- 
plish his  own  fame.  He  told  the  world  all  he  chose  the  world 
to  know;  and  if  not,  is  it  for  me — for  7/ic.'— to  fill  up  the  va- 
cancy, by  tolling  what,  perhaps,  lie  never  meant  to  be  told  1 — 
what  I  owed  to  his  boundless  love  and  confidence  1—thal  wcr« 
too  horrible!" 


fi 


1 


GOETHE    AND    EKERMANN. 


120 


<  ■!l 


not  engaged  in  his  ambulatory  traffic,  in  a  little  vil- 


lage 


ar  Hamburg.  Though  steeped  in  poverty, 
they  seem  to  have  be'^ii  above  actual  want,  and  not 
unhappy.  For  the  first  fourteen  years  of  his  life 
Ekermann  was  employed  in  taking  care  of  their 
only  cow,  the  chief  support  of  the  family  ;  gather- 
ing wood  for  firing  in  the  winter  ;  and  in  summer 
occasionally  assisting  his  father  in  carrying  the 
package  of  small  wares  with  which  he  travelled 
through  the  neighboring  villages.  '*  All  this  time,'' 
says  Ekermann,  *'  I  was  so  far  from  being  torment- 
ed by  any  secret  ambition  for  higher  things,  or  any 
intuitive  longing  after  science  or  literature,  that  1 
did  not  even  know  that  they  existed."  In  this  case, 
as  in  many  others,  accident,  as  we  call  it.  developed 
the  latent  faculties  of  a  mind  of  no  common  order. 
A  woodcut  of  a  galloping  horse — the  excise  stamp, 
on  a  paper  of  tobacco  which  his  father  brought  from 
Hamburg — first  excited  his  admiration,  and  then 
the  wish  to  imitate  what  he  admired.  He  attempted 
to  copy  til  horse  with  a  pen  and  ink ;  succeeded, 
much  to  his  own  delight  and  the  wonder  of  his  sim- 
ple parents  ;  and  then  by  dint  of  copying  some  poor 
engra'  mgs,  (lent  to  him  by  a  potter  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  used  them  to  ornament  his  ware,)  he  be- 
came a  tolerable  draughtsman  ;  he  was  then  noticed 
and  encouraged  by  a  gentleman,  who  asked  him  if  he 
should  like  to  become  a  painter.  Now  the  only 
idea  of  a  painter  which  had  ever  occurred  to  his 
father  and  mother  was  that  of  a  house-painter ;  and 
as  they  had  seen  house-painters  at  Hamburg  sus- 
pended on  dangerous  scaffolds,  when  decorating  the 


i 


• .  ;»■] 


'» » 


'  '1  A'. 


».j>','irt 


•,:H:^1 


!•'  1,^ 


■; 


i      'i  •: 


130 


WINTER    STUDIKS. 


I.;4 ' 


exterior  of  the  buildings  there,  his  tender  mother 
begged  him  not  to  think  of  a  trade  in  which  he  ran 
the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck  ;  and  the  offer  was  re- 
spectfully declined. 

In  the  family  of  the  gentleman  who  noticed  h'm, 
Ekermann  picked  up  a  little  French,  Latin,  and 
music ;  and  now  the  thirst  for  information  was 
awakened  in  his  mind ;  he  studied  with  diligence, 
and,  as  a  clerk  in  different  offices,  maintained  him- 
self till  the  breaking  out  of  the  war  of  deliverance, 
in  1813.  He  then,  like  every  man  who  could  carry 
a  firelock,  enrolled  himself  in  the  army,  and  made 
the  campaigns  of  1813  and  1814.  The  corps  in 
which  ne  served  was  marched  into  Flanders,  and 
there  for  the  first  time  he  had  the  perception  of 
what  pictures  are,  of  all  that  he  had  lost  in  refusing 
to  become  a  painter,  and  could  have  wept,  as  he 
says,  for  very  grief  and  self-reproach.  Repassed 
all  his  leisure  in  wandering  through  the  churcbes, 
gazing  on  the  works  of  the  great  Flemish  masters. 
At  once  the  resolution  to  become  an  artist  took  pos- 
session of  his  mind.  When  his  regiment  was  dis- 
banded, he  set  to  work  and  placed  himself  under  the 
tuition  of  Ramberg,in  Hanover.  There  is  something 
very  touching  in  this  part  of  his  history;  be  had 
himself  nothing  in  the  world — no  means  of  subsist- 
ence ;  but  he  had  a  friend  in  tolerable  circum- 
stances at  Hanover ;  he  made  his  solitary  way 
through  the  snow  on  foot  to  that  city,  and  took  up 
his  residence  with  this  friend  of  his  youth,  who 
shared  with  him  his  home  and  slender  income. 
Anxious,  however,  not  to  be  a  burthen  longer  than 


4 


GOEtHE    AND   EKERMANN. 


131 


was  absolutely  necessary,  be  sought  employment, 
worked  so  hard  as  to  injure  his  health,  and  brought 
liimself  to  the  verge  of  the  grave— in  short,  he  was 
obliged  to  give  up  all  hope  of  studying  art  as  a  pro- 
fession, and  he  took  to  literature  :  here  he  show- 
ed the  same  indefatigable  temper,  and,  conscious  of 
his  imperfect  education,  he  put  himself  to  school ; 
and  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  pay  for  instruction, 
procured  the  situation  of  a  clerk  in  a  public  office. 
At  the  age  of  twenty-six  he  became  a  scholar  in  the 
second  class  of  the  Gymnasium,   among  boys    of 
fourteen  and  fifteen.     Here,  he  says,  the  most  ad- 
vanced pupils  in  the  school,  far  from   turning  him 
into  ridicule,  treated  him   with   every  mark  of  res- 
pect, and  even  assisted  him  in  his  studies ;  but  be- 
tween his  clerk's  office  and  his  schooling,  there  re- 
mained to  him  scarce  one  moment  either  for  food  or 
exercise  ;  he  was  eager  to  perfect  himself  in  the 
classics,  remained  ignorant  of  the  great  laws  by 
which  he  held  his  existence  ;  and  we  are  not  sur- 
prised to   find   that  the  result  of  these  excessive 
efforts,    was    broken  health,   a  constitution   almost 
destroyed,  and,   in  fact,  permanently  injured.     In 
the  midst  of  all  this,  Ekermann  found   time  to  fall 
deeply  in  love  ;  and  the  wish  to  obtain  distinction 
and    some  settled  means  of  subsistence   assumed 
another,  a  more  pleasing,  and  a  more  an.^ious  form. 
But  ill-health  and  a  desultory  education  were  against 
him.     He  wrote  a  book  of  poems,  which  was  pub- 
lished and  met  with  some  success ;  the  profits  ena- 
bled him  to  goto  a  university,  where  for  some  time  he 
scem.s  to  have  entertained  the  hope  of  procuring  an 


11 

4  rM 

''■    jtfio 

'  ■  'mI 

>m 

■i< ''  i ;  ^ 


'<t< 


:  i 


!  .1!* 


V.     'I 


h^' 


j*  '•  I 


138 


WtNTEU  STUDIES. 


I 


il! 


Hi 


office  or  a  professorship,  which  should  enable  him  to 
marry.     Thus  year  after  year  passed.     In  the  year 
1822,  he  wrote  his  "  Beitrage  zur  Poesie,"  (poetical 
essays,)  and  sent  the  mss.,  with  a  modest  letter,  to 
Goethe  ;  the  result  was,  an  invitation  to  Weimar, 
where  he  finally  took  up  his  residence.     Some  time 
afterwards  he  procured  a  permanent  situation,  and 
was  enabled  to  marry  the  woman  he  loved  ;  shy  by 
nature,  and  averse  to  society,  ambitious  only  of  lite- 
rary distinction,  having  laid  up  his  whole  heart,  and 
hopes,  and  life,  in  the  quiet  pleasures  of  his  modest 
home,  and  in  the  society  of  the  wife  whom  he  had 
obtained  after  a  protracted  engagement  of  ten  years, 
Ekermann  during  the  next  three  years  might,  per- 
haps, be  pronounced  a  happy  man.     In   the  third 
year  of  his  marriage  he  lost  his  amiable  wife,  who 
died  in  giving  birth  to  a  son,  and  since  that  time  he 
has  become  more  shy  and  inaccessible  than  ever-'— 
shrinking  nervously  from  the  presence  of  strangers, 
and  devoted  to  the  poor  little  infant  which  has  cost 
him  so  deal'.     The  daughter-in-law  and  the  grand- 
sons of  Goethe,  who  look  up  to  him  with^a  tender 
reverence,  he  seems  to  idolize,  and  has  become  in 
some  sort  the  literary  Mentor  and  aid  of  the  young 
men,  as  Goethe  had  been  his  long  ycEU's  ago.     It  is 
a  family  tie,  every  way  sanctified,  and  not,  I  trust,  to 
be  severed  in  this  world  by  aught  that  the  world 
can  give  or  take  away. 

The  period  at  which  the.«e  conversations  com- 
menced was  an  interesting  epoch  in  the  personal 
existence  of  Goethe  ;  it  was  about  the  time  of  his 
visit  to  Marienbad,  in  1S23,  and  was  marked  by  the 


i! 


GOGTHE*S    LAST    LOVE. 


133 


composition  of  one  of  his  finest  lyrical  poems,  the 
elegy  in  three  parts,  which  he  has  entitled,  "  Tri- 
logie  der  Leidenschaft."  He  is  then  seventy-four, 
but  in  appearance  sixty ;  his  eye  still  beaming  with 
a  softened  fire,  a  cheek  yet  fresh  with  health,  a 
well-knit  figure,  an  upright,  graceful  carriage,  a 
manner  which  took  all  hearts  captive.  The  grand, 
the  beautiful  old  man! — old,  yet,  alas!  still  young 
enough,  it  seems,  in  heart  and  frame,  to  feel  once 
more,  for  the  last  time,  the  touch  of  passion  ;  not  a 
mere  old  man's  love,  such  as  we  usually  see  it — half 
disease,  or  half  infatuation — at  best  a  weakness — the 
sickly  flare  of  a  dying  lamp;  but  genuine  passion  in 
all  its  effects  and  under  its  most  profound  and  most 
painful,  as  well  as  its  most  poetical  aspect. 

Ekermann  merely  touches  on  this  subject  with  all 
possible,  a.l  becoming  delicacy  ;  but  there  seems  no 
occasion  for  me  to  suppress  here  the  mention  of 
some  circumstancesnot  generally  known,  but  which 
can  bring  nor  shame,  nor  pain,  nor  regret  to  any 
human  being. 

The  object  of  this  love  was  a  young  person  he 
had  met   at    Marienbad — one  of  the  daughters  of 

Madame   de  L w.     She  has  been  described  to 

me  as  fair  and  rather  full-formed,  itJtelligeiit,  accom- 
plished, and  altogether  most  attractive.  He  began 
by  admiring  and  petting  her  as  a  child — then  loved 
her — loved  her  against  his  will,  his  better  sen.^e,  one 
might  almost  say,  against  his  nature.  There  was  a 
report  in  Germany  that  he  had  offered  her  marriage  ; 
this  is  not  true  ;  but  it  was  feared  he  might  do  so. 
He  returned  from  Marienbad  changed  in  manner; 

VOL.  I.  12 


i 

.  .'1  : 

;,,P 

,1 1 

■1M 

»; 

<S       ''1' 

i  1 

Mil  ■! 

m\ 

ff 

I. 

!    '     ill 


|.,» 


V^' 


iirll, 


134 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


■^:    III 


U'-ii 


|.^. 


§i  li 


1  lli^l 


f   1  jij 


he  had  lost  that  majestic  caim,  that  cheerfulness, 
which  inspired  such  respect  as  well  as  affection  in 
those  around  him ;  and  for  some  weeks  all  were  in 
anxiety  for  the  event.     But  Goethe  was  a  man  of 
the  world,  and  a  man  of  strong  sense;  he  resolved 
to  free  himself  from  a  thraldom  of  which  he  felt  all 
the   misery  and    perceived   all  the  ridicule.      He 
struggled  manfully,  and  conquered  ;  but  after  weeks 
of  terrible   suffering   and   a   fit   of  illness,   during 
which  he  was  seized  with  a  kind  of  lethargy,  a  sus- 
pension of  all  memory,  perception,  feeling,  from 
which  he  was  with  difficulty  roused  :  but  he  conquer' 
ed  ;  and  on  his  recovery  betook  himself  to  his  usual 
remedy  for  pain  and  grief—  hard  work.     He  found 
**a  file  for  the  serpent,"  and  was  soon  deep  in  his 
new  theory  of  colors  and  his  botanical  researches. 
If  there  be  any  one  in  the  world  so  vulgar-minded 
and  so  heartless,  as  to  find  in  this  story  of  a  great 
poet's  last  love,  a  subject  for  cruel  and  coarse  plea- 
santry, I  must  say  that  I  pity  such  a  being.     In  the 
elegy  alluded  to,  we  find  no  trace  of  the  turbulence 
of  youthful  passion — no  hopes,  no  wishef^  no  fears, 
no  desires,  no  reproaches  such  as  lovers  ".re  wont  to 
sing  or  say.     It  is  no  flowery,  per.   med  wreath  of 
flattery  thrown  at  the  feet  of  a  mistress,  but  rather 
the  funereal  incense  of  a  solemn  and  fated  sacrifice. 
I^.breathes  theprofoundest,  the  saddest  tenderness — 
as  if  in  loving  he  took   leave   of  love.     There    is 
nothing  in  these  lines  unbecoming  to  his  age,  nor 
discreditable  to  her,  but  all  is  grand,  and  beautiful, 
and  decorous,  and  grave,  in  the  feeling  and  expres- 
sion.    Sometimes,  when  I  read  it  and  think  upon  its 


GOETHE  S    LAST    LOYE. 


125 


truth,  tears  fill  my  eyes  even  to  overflowing,  and  my 
very  heart  bows  down  in  compassionate  reverence, 
as  if  I  should  behold  a  majestic  temple  struck  by 
the  lightning  of  heaven  and  trembling  through  its 
whole  massy  structure.  In  other  moments  of  cnlmer 
reflection,  1  have  considered  the  result  with  another 
kind  of  interest,  as  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
poetical  and  psychological  phenomena  in  the  history 
of  human  genius. 

The  first  part  of  this  poem  is  addressed  to  the 
shade  of  Werther,  and  contains  some  of  the  most 
powerful  and  harmonious  lines  he  ever  wrote  ;  to 
the  second  part  he  has  prefixed,  as  a  motto,  those 
beautiful  lines  in  his  own  Tasso— - 


!^^t!i 


ded 
re  at 
jlea- 
n  the 
ence 
ears, 
ont  to 
ath  of 
ather 
ifice. 
less — 
re    is 
e,  nor 
utiful, 
pres- 


Und  wenn  der  Mensch  in  seiner  dual  verstummt 
Gab  mir  ein  Gott  zu  sagen  was  ich  leide ! 


Ekermann  says,  that  when  Goethe  laid  before  him 
this  singular  poem,  he  found  it  distinguished  above 
all  the  rest  of  his  manuscripts,  written  with  peculiar 
care  in  his  own  neatest  hand-writing,  on  the  best  pa- 
per, and  fastened  with  a  silken  knot  into  a  red 
morocco  cover.  This  little  piece  of  fanciful,  senti- 
mental dandyism,  will  bring  to  your  recollection  the 
anecdote  of  Rousseau  binding  his  favorite  letters  in 
.the  Heloise  with  ribbon  couhur  de  rose,  and  using 
lapis-lazuli  powder  to  dry  the  writing. 

#  »  0  t 


•i  ;, 


1.26 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


J  ,' 


March  11. 

Went  on  with  Ekermaim's  book,  and  found  some 
interesting  things. 

Ekermann,  after  he  had  spent  some  weeks  at 
Weimar,  tells  his  friend  that  he  was  beginning  to 
feel  the  favorable  influence  of  a  more  social  life, 
and  in  some  sort  to  emerge  from  the  merely  ideal 
and  theoretical  existence  he  had  hitherto  led,  &c. 
Goethe  encourages  him,  and  says  strikingly,  **  Hold 
fast  to  the  present.  Every  position,  (zustand,) 
every  moment  of  life,  is  of  unspeakable  value  as 
the  representative  of  a  whole  eternity." 

The  following  passage  is  at  once  very  touching 
and  very  characteristic.  He  seems  to  be  a  little 
melancholy,  which  was  not  often  the  case,  "  When 
I  look  back,"  said  Goethe,  "  on  my  early  and  middle 
life,  and  now  in  my  old  age  reflect  how  few  of  those 
remain  who  were  young  with  me,  life  seems  to  me 
like  a  summer  residence  in  a  watering-place. 
When  we  first  arrive,  we  form  friendships  with 
those  who  have  already  spent  some  time  there,  and 
must  be  gone  the  noxt  week.  The  loss  is  painful, 
but  we  connect  ourselves  with  the  second  genera- 
tion of  visitors,  with  whom  we  spend  some  time  and 
become  dearly  incimate  ;  but  these  also  depart,  and 
we  are  left  alone  with  a  third  set,  who  arrive  just  as 
we  are  preparin^'f  for  our  departure,  in  whom  we 
feel  little  or  no  in  erest. 

"  The  world  has  always  regarded  me  as  a  pecu- 
liar favorite  of  fortune,  nor  will  I  complain  of  my 
existence  taken  as  a  whole :  yet,  in  truth,  it  has 
been  little  else  than  weariness  and  labor;  and  I  may 


i 


■A 

1 


■; 


GOETHE'S    TABLE    TALK. 


say;  that  in  my  five-and 


seventy  years 
peace  and  com 


137 

I  have  not  en- 


the 


joye?i  tour  weeks  ot  peace  and  comtort — it  was 
eternal  rolling  of  the  stone.  The  claims  upon  my 
time  and  capabilities,  from  within  and  from  without, 
were  too  many.  My  only  happiness  lay  in  my  poe- 
tic talents ;  yet  even  in  this  how  have  I  been, 
through  outward  tilings  disturbed,  limited,  and 
hindered  !  Had  I  kept  my.self  more  apart  from 
public  business,  and  could  1  have  lived  more  in  soli- 
tude, I  had  been  happier  as  a  man,  and  as  a  poet 
I  had  effoctcd  much  more.  Thus,  after  the  publi- 
cation of  my  Gotz  and  my  Wertlier,  a  certain  sen- 
sible frien<l  said  to  me  in  warning,  '  When  a  man 
has  once  clone  someiliing  to  delight  the  world,  ihe 
world  will  thenceforward  take  care  that  he  shall 
not  do  it  a  second  lime.'  A  wide-spread  name,  a 
high  position  in  society,  are  doubtless  goo  1  things, 
but  with  all  my  reputation  and  my  rank,  I  could  not 
often  do  more  nor  better  than  give  way  to  the  opi- 
nions of  others  j  and  this  were  in  truth  but  a  sorry 
jest,  if  I  had  not  therewith  so  far  the  advantage,  that 
I  learned  (erfahre)  how  others  thought:  aber  sie 
nicht  wie  ich." 

How  solemn  sounds  all  this  from  the  lips  of  a  man, 
who  in  years,  in  fame,  in  wisdom,  in  prosperity,  ex- 
ceeded so  far  his  fellow-men  ! 

Pointing  out  to  Ekermann  some  beautiful  antique 
gems,  and  comparing  them  with  the  manner  in  which 
the  same  subjects  and  ideas  had  been  treated  by 
modern  artists,  he  makes  the  oft-repeated  observa- 
tion, how  far  in  these  later  times  we  fall  short  of  the 
classical  models  :  even  with  the  highest  feeling  for 

12* 


\k 


II 


1.1 


■b      '    I 


u  ■■.x 


%' 


'!    i'l.!? 


m 


m 

J  I'll 


■u 


\  v 


''V'^''— ""' 


nae; 


^.       I 


I  \i 


i   1  !„ 


138 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


;\:, 


the  pure  inimitable  grace,  the  unaffected  nature  of 
these  relics,  even  with  a  conception  oi  how  it  was  all 
produced,  we  cannot  repeat  the  results  we  admire. 
•'  Meyer,"  he  a'Med,  "  used  often  to  say,  '  If  only 
it  were  not  so  difficult  to  think;'  but  the  worst  is, 
that  all  the  thinhing  in  the  world  will  not  help  us 
to  think — we  must  cfo  direct  to  nature,  so  that  beau- 
tiful  ideas  shall  present  themselves  before  us  like 
God-sends,  (frcye  kinder  Gottes,)  and  cull  out  to  us, 
'  Jlerc  ICO  arc  /'  "* 

Tiedgc,  in  ISOO,  wrote  a  poem  on  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  entitled  "  Urania,"  and  Goethe  alludes 
amusirgiy  to  the  sensat"on  it  j)rcdijcecl  for  a  time  ; 
the  "  Urania"  lay  on  every  table — "  Urania"  and 
immortality  were  the  subject  of  every  conversation, 
and  stupid,  conceited  women  discussed  round  their 
tea-tables  the  sublimest  speculations  on  a  future 
life;  all  which  seems  to  have  excited  his  impatience 
and  his  derision.  How  truly  he  says  somewhere, 
that  the  same  things  are  constantly  repeated  in  the 
world  ;  that  there  never  was  any  thing,  any  fact, 
that  had  only  once  existed  !  How  well  I  recollect 
when  the  publication  of  "  Satan,"  and  the  "  Omni- 
presence of  the  Deity,"  and  some  other  poems  of 
the  same  stamp,  were  all  the  rage  in  England,  and 
sent  our  evangelical  ladies,  some  up  into  the  clouds, 
within  precincts  where  seraphs  fear  to  tread,  and 
some  down — never  mind  where — it  was  Tiedge's 
'•  Urania"  over  again.     Of  course,  I   speak  here 

♦  He  says  the  same  thing  otherwise,  and  better,  in  another 
place — '•  AUes  Gescheite  ist  schon  einmal  gedacht  worden; 
man  muss  nur  versuchcn,  es  noch  einmal  zu  denken." 


1     ( 

'  J 

\% 

'  m 

! 

i  1 

ii 

iii 

■  1 

u 
ill 
•il'  1 

ooethe's  table  talk. 


139 


■'    .'  li 


only  of  the  presumption  and  frivolity,  amounting  to 
profaneness  and  audacity,  or  worse,  which  I  have 
witnessed  in  some  women  whose  heated  imagina- 
tions outran  thel.  loason,  as  different  from  the  staid, 
the  sober  humility  of  real  piety,  as  the  raving  Pytho- 
ness of  old  was  unlike  the  meek  Mary,  "  who  sat 
at  Jesus'  feet  and  heaid  his  words." 

Goethe  says,  in  the  same  passage,  "  that  he  would 
not  himself  give  up  for  aught  in  the  world  the  belief 
in  futurity  ;  <'irid  he  thinks  with  Lorenzo  de  Medici, 
that  he  who  lives  not  in  the  hope  of  a  futuie  life 
may  be  counted  as  alieady  dead  -•  but  he  exclaims 
against  treating  with  vulgar  and  audacious  fami- 
liarity the  divine,  the  incomprehensible  truths, 
which  prophets  and  apostles  touched  upon  with 
awe  ;   and  I  think  with  him. 

Goethe  has  {lias  ? — I  think  of  him  as  being  note  !) 
I.  should  say,  that  out  of  a  collection  of  more  than 
seventy  portfolios  of  engravings  and  original  draw- 
ings, it  was  his  general  custom  to  have  one  or  two 
laid  on  the  table  after  dinner,  and  to  turn  them  over 
in  presence  of  his  guests  and  the  ladies  of  his 
family,  discoursing  most  eloquently  on  the  different 
subjects,  or  pleased  to  appeal  to  the  natural  sense 
and  taste  of  those  around  him.  It  was  a  divine 
lecture  on  art. 

There  are  in  one  of  these  portfolios  some  most 
exquisite  etchings  and  drawings  by  Roos,  the  famous 
animal  painter,  all  representing  sheep  or  goats  in 
every  possible  attitude,  wonderful  for  their  truth. 
'•  When  I  look  at  them,"  says  (oethe,  speaking  in 
the  fulness    of  his   admiration,  "  I  feel  a   certain 


ri".'". 


''V>*'""^ 


140 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


«    li'M!- 


(  •» 


'  ::u 


ill 

if  li 


strange  uneasiness.  The  narrow,  stupid,  silly, 
dreamy,  yawny  nature  of  these  creatures  attracts 
me  into  a  kind  of  beastly  sympathy  with  them  ;  I 
look  at  them  till  I  am  half  afraid  of  becoming  a 
eheep  myself,  an  1  could  almost  fancy  that  the  artist 
had  been  one  ;  he  had  no  vocation  to  paint  the 
fiercer  quadrupeds,  he  confined  himself  to  the  rumi- 
nating animals,  and  in  that  he  did  well :  his  sympa- 
thy with  the  nature  of  L'  ?se  creatures  was  born  with 
him — it  was  innate." 

What  would  Goethe  have  thought  of  some  of 
Edwin  Landscer's  ])ictures — his  wild  deer — his 
dogs! — the  Highland  Nurse,  for  instance,  where 
the  colley  is  watc!iiitg  by  tie  slecj)ing  infant  1  Did 
Roos,  or  Snydcrs,  or  Kubens  himself,  ever  give  us 
the  morale  of  animal  life  in  the  fine  spirit  of  Edwin 
Landseer  1 

After  some  other  things,  Goethe  goes  on  to  say, 
that  he  thinks  a  knowledge  of  the  universe  must  be 
innate  with  some  poets.  (It  seems  to  have  been  so 
with  Shakspeare.)  He  says  he  wrote  "  Gotz  von 
Berliohingen"  when  he  was  a  young  inexperienced 
man  of  two-pnd-twenty.  "  Ten  years  later,"  he 
adds,  "  I  stood  astonished  at  the  truth  of  my  own 
delineation  ;  I  had  never  beheld  or  experienced  the 
like,  therefore  the  knowledge  of  these  multifarious 
aspects  of  human  nature  I  must  have  possessed 
through  a  kind  of  anticipation." 

Yes  ;  the  "  kind  of  anticipation"  through  which 
Joanna  Baillie  conceived  and  wrote  her  noble  tra- 
gedies. Where  did  she,  whose  life  has  been  pure 
and  "  retired  as  noontide  dew,"  find  the  dark,  stera> 


If 


m 


. 


GOETHE  S  TABLE  TALK. 


141 


terrible  elements,  out  of  which  she  framed  the  de- 
lineations of  character  and  passion  in  De  Monlfort, 
Ethwald,  Basil,  Conp*antine  ? — where  but  in  her 
own  prophetic  heart  aijd  genius  ? — in  that  intuitive, 
almost  unconscious  revelation  of  the  universal  na- 
ture, which  makes  the  poet,  and  not  experience  or 
knowledge.  Joanna  Baillie,  whose  most  tender 
and  refined,  and  womanly  and  christian  spirit  never, 
I  believe,  admitted  an  ungentle  thought  of  any  liv- 
ing being,  created  De  Montfort,  and  gave  us  the 
physiology  of  Hatred  ;  and  might  well,  like  Goethe, 
stand  astonished  at  the  truth  of  her  own  delineation. 

Farther  on,  Goethe  speaks  of  the  perfection  with 
which  some  of  the  German  women  write  their  own 
language,  so  as  to  excel  in  this  particular  some  of 
their  best  authors.  The  same  holds  good  in  France 
and  England ;  so  that  to  understand  the  full  force 
of  Goethe's  compliment  to  his  countrywomen,  one 
must  recollect  that  it  is  no  such  easy  matter  to 
write  a  fine  and  clear  German  style,  where  there 
are  twenty  dialects  and  a  hundred  different  styles. 
Prince  Metternich  once  observed  to  me,  "  What  I 
admire  in  your  language  is,  that  you  have  one  good 
style  in  speaking  and  writing ;  and  all  well-bred  and 
well-educated  persons  in  England  speak  and  write 
nearly  alike.  Here,  in  Germany,  we  have  as  many 
different  styles  as  individual  writers,  and  the  dif- 
ference is  greater  than  a  foreigner  could  easily 
imagine." 

Yet  even  this  kind  of  individuality,  in  point  of 
style,  may  possibly  have  a  value  and  a  charm,  and 
this  will  be  felt  if  ever  the  rules  of  a  good  stylo  be 


^\ 


i^ui'l 


I,  j 


1:1! 


m 


'*ij 


Hfyi' 


I'M 


(      I 


'if 


l;1. 


^l 


fj    1  ' 


i'  I 


> 


b:  [ 


1  *'ii 


142 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


SO  fixed   by  criticism  or  fashion,  that  all  Germany 
will  write  uniformly. 

What  he  says  of  himself  and  Tieck  is  very  inte- 
resting ;  he  speaks  of  him  with  admiration  and  kind 
feeling,  but  adds,  **  that  when  the  Schlegels  set  up 
Tieck  as  a  sort  of  literary  rival  to  himself,  they 
placed  him  in  a  false  position.  I  may  say  this 
openly,"  adds  this  great  man,  with  a  dignified  and 
frank  simplicity.  "  I  did  not  make  myself;  and  it 
were  much  the  same  thing  as  though  I  should  even 
myself  with  Shakspeare,  who  also  did  not  make 
himself — a  being  far,  far  above  me,  to  whom  I  look 
up  with  reverence  and  wonder." 

Driving  home  one  day  from  Tiefurt,  as  the  car- 
riage turned,  they  faced  the  sun  ju«t  as  he  was  sink- 
ing in  the  west.  Goethe  ceased  speaking,  and  re- 
mained for  a  few  moments  as  if  lost  in  thought; 
then  rousing  himself,  he  repeated  from  some  old 
poet — 


"  Untergehend  sogar  ist's  immer  dieaelbige  Sonne." 


He  then  continued,  with  a  most  cheerful  and  ani- 
mated expression — "  When  a  man  has  lived  seventy- 
five  years,  he  must  needs  think  sometimes  upon 
death.  This  thought  brings  me  perfect  peace,  for 
\  have  the  fixed  conviction  that  the  spirit  is  immor- 
tal, and  has  a  never-ceasing  progression  from  eter- 
nity to  eternity  ;  it  is  like  the  sun,  which  only«ecms 
to  set  to  our  earthly  eyes,  but  which  in  reality  never 
does  set,  and  never  ceases  to  shine." 

Farther  on,  Ekermann  expresses  his  regret  that 


I 


iaii 


:~m 


t  that 


POSITION   OF   WOMEW. 


143 


Goethe  should  have  sacrificed  so  much  tim'^  as  direc- 
tor of  the  theatre  at  Weimar,  and  considers  that 
many  works  were  thus  lost  to  the  world.    To  which 
Goethe  replies — "  Truly,  it  is  possible  I  might  have 
written  many  good  things  during  that  time ;  yet 
when  I  reflect,  I  feel  no  regret.     All  my  produc- 
tions, as  well  as  endeavors,  I  have  been  accustomed 
to  regard  as  merely  symbolical,  (that  is,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  leading  to  something  beyond,  and  signifi- 
cant of  something  better,  than  themselves,)  and,  in 
point  of  fact,  it  was  with  me  as  with  a  potter,  to  whom 
it  is  quite  indifferent  whether  he  makes  pitchers  or 
whether  he  makes  platters  of  his  clay." 
*  «  *  « 


March  13. 
Idle  to-day,  and  although  I  read  a  good  deal,  I 
translated  very  little,  and  noted  less. 

Yet  the  following  passage  struck  me.  The  con- 
versation turned  on  the  German  poetesses,  and  Reh- 
bein,  Goethe's  physician,  insisted  that  the  poetical 
talent  in  women  was  "  ein  Art  von  geistigem 
Geschlechtstrieb." 

"  Hear  him  !"  exclaimed  Goethe  ;  **  hear  the 
physician,  with  his  *  intellectual  impulse  of  sex  !'  " 

Rehbein  explained  1  -mself,  by  observing  "  that 
the  women  who  had  distinguished  themselves  in 
literature,  poetry  especially,  were  almost  universally 
women  who  had  been  disappointed  in  their  best 
affections,  and  sought  in  this  direction  of  the  intel- 


!l 


i* 


'"  mi 


I  i 


'  '*  ■■  i  i 


H 


-M 


\u 


ir3»^ 


1:  f li:i 

m: 


144 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


1  '.'M 


*^?l 


lect  a  sort  of  compensation.  "When  women  are 
married,  and  have  children  to  take  care  of,  they  do 
not  often  think  of  writing  poetry."* 

This  is  not  very  politely  or  delicately  expressed; 
but  we  must  not  therefore  shrink  from  it,  for  it  in- 
volves some  important  considerations.  It  is  most 
certain  that  among  the  women  who  have  been  dis- 
tinguished in  literature,  three-fourths  have  been 
either  by  nature,  or  fate,  or  the  law  of  society,  placed 
in  a  painful  or  a  false  position  ;  it  is  also  most  cer- 
tain that  in  these  days  when  society  is  becoming 
every  day  more  artificial  and  more  complex,  and 
marriage,  as  the  gentlemen  assure  us,  more  and 
more  expensive,  hazardous,  and  inexpedient,  women 
must  find  means  to  fill  up  the  void  of  existence. 
Men,  our  natural  protectors,  our  lawgivers,  our  mas- 
ters, throw  us  upon  our  own  resources  ;  the  quali- 
ties which  they  pretend  to  admire  in  us — the  over- 
flowing, the  clinging  affections  of  a  warm-heart — 
the  household  devotion — the  submissive  wish  to 
please,  that  feels  "  every  vanity  in  fondness  lost," 
the  tender  shrinking  sensitiveness  wiiich  Adam 
thought  so  charming  in  his  Eve — to  cultivate  these, 
to  make  them,  by  artificial  mean- ,  the  staple  of  the 
womanly  character,  is  it  not  to  cultivate  a  taste  for 
sunshine  and  roses,  in  tlioso  we  send  to  pass  their 
lives  in  the  arctic  zone  1  We  have  gone  away 
from  nature,  and   we  must,  if  wo    can,  substitute 

♦  This  applies  more  to  Germany  thnn  with  us,  and  even  \ip 
to  the  present  time  it  has  required  a  very  powerful  reaction  of 
some  kind  to  drive  a  German  woman  into  the  public  path  of 
literature. 


'  t: 


POSITION    OP    WOMEN. 


145 


path  of 


nnother  nature.  Art,  literature  and  science,  re- 
main to  us.  Religion,  which  formerly  opened 
the  doors  of  nunneries  and  convents  to  forlorn 
women,  now  mingling  her  beautiful  and  sooth- 
ing influence  with  resources  which  the  prejudices 
of  the  world  have  yet  left  open  to  us,  teaches 
us  another  lesson,  that  only  in  utility,  such  as  is  left 
to  us,  only  in  the  assiduous  employment  of  such  fa- 
culties as  we  are  permitted  to  exercise,  can  we  find 
health  and  peace,  and  compensation  for  the  wasted 
or  repressed  impulses  and  energies  more  proper  to 
our  sex — more  natural — perhaps  more  pleasing  to 
God  ;  but  trusting  in  his  mercy,  and  using  the 
means  he  has  given,  we  must  do  the  best  we  can  for 
ourselves  and  for  our  sisterhood.  The  cruel  preju- 
dices which  would  have  shut  us  out  from  nobler  con- 
solation and  occupations  have  ceased  in  great  part, 
and  will  soon  be  remembered  only  as  the  ludc, 
coarse  barbnrism  of  a  by-gone  age.  Let  us  then  have 
no  more  caricatures  of  methodit^ticul,  card-playing, 
and  acrimonious  old  miiids.  Let  us  hear  no  more 
of  scandal,  parrots,  cats,  and  lap-dogs — oi-  worse  ! 
the.se  never  failing  subjects  of '^  'rision  with  the  vul- 
gar and  the  frivolous,  hut  the  source  of  a  thousand 
compassionate  and  melancholy  feelings  in  those  who 
can  reflect !  In  the  Lame  of  Immanity  and  woman- 
hood,let  us  have  no  more  of  them  !  Coleridge,  who 
has  said  and  written  the  most  beautiful,  the  most 
tender,  the  most  reverential  things  of  women — who 
understands  better  than  nny  man,  any  poet,  wliat  I 
will  call  the  metaphysics  of  love — Coleridge,  as  you 
will  remember,  has  asserted  that  the  perfection  of  a 
VOL.  I.  13 


ffi'i 


<t      ■>fn 


i'l'*  i'|i'i| 


146 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


woman's  character  is  to  be  cliaractcrless. 


Ev- 


ery 


man,"  said  he,  "  would  like  to  have  an  Ophelia  or  a 
Desdamonafor  his  wife."  No  doubt;  the  sentiment 
is  truly  a  masculine  one  ;  and  what  was  their  fate  % 
What  would  now  be  the  fate  of  such  unresisting 
and  confiding  angels  \  Is  rhis  the  age  of  Arcadia! 
Do  we  live  among  Paladins  and  Sir  Charles  Gran- 
disons,  and  are  our  weakness,  and  our  innocence, 
and  our  ignorance,  safeguards — or  snares  1  Do  vve 
indeed  find  our  account  in  being 

"  Fine  by  dcfoct,  and  beautitully  weak  V 

No,  no;  women  need  in  these  times  rJtaracter 
beyond  every  thing  else  ;  the  qualities  which  will 
enable  them  to  endure  and  to  resist  evil;  the  self- 
governed,  the  cultivated,  active  mind,  to  protect  and 
to  maintain  ourselves.  How  many  wretched  women 
marry  for  a  maintenance  !  llovv  many  wretched 
women  sell  themselves  to  dishonor  i'or  broad  !  and 
there  is  small  difference,  if  any,  in  the  infamy  and 
the  misery!  How  many  unmairied  women  live  in 
heart-wearing  dependence  ;  if  poor,  in  solitary  pe- 
nury, loveless,  joyless,  unendemed  ;  if  rich,  in  aim- 
less, pitiful  trifling  !  How  many,  strange  to  say, 
marry  for  the  independence  they  dare  not  other- 
wise claim  !  But  the  more  paths  opened  to  us,  the 
less  fear  that  we  should  go  astray. 

Surely,  it  is  dangerous,  it  is  wicked,  in  these  days, 
to  follow  the  old  saw,  to  bring  up  women  to  be 
*'  happy  wives  and  mothers  ;"  that  is  to  say,  let  all 
her  accomplishments,  her  sentiments,  her  views  of 
life,  take  one  direction,  as  if  for  women  there  exist- 


11 


LORD    BYKON. 


147 


ed  only  one  destiny — one  hope,  one  blessing,  one 
object,  one  passion  in  existence ;  some  people  say 
it  ought  to  be  so,  but  we  know  th^t  it  is  not  so ;  we 
know  that  hundreds,  that  thousands  of  women  are 
not  happy  wives  and  mothers — are  never  either 
wives  or  mothers  at  all.  The  cultivation  of  the 
moral  strength  and  the  active  energies  of  a  woman's 
mind,  together  with  the  intellectual  faculties  and 
tastes,  will  not  make  a  woman  a  less  good,  less  hap- 
py wife  and  mother,  and  will  enable  her  to  find  con- 
tent and  independence  when  denied  love  and  hap- 
piness. 

«  *  *  # 


■I 


h 


March  12, 
Got  on  better  to-day. 

Goethe  speaks  with  great  admiration  of  the  poems, 
original  and  translated,  of  Talvi,  (M;idamoiselle 
Jacob,  now  Mrs.  Robinson,  and  settled,  I  believe,  in 
America.) 

There  is  a  great  deal  about  Lord  Byron  in  scat- 
tered passages.  Goethe  seems  to  have  understood 
liim  astonishingly  well — I  mean  the  man  as  well  as 
the  poet.*  At  this  time  Lord  Byron  was  turning  all 
heads  in  Germany,  and  Goethe,  who  was  flattered  by 
the  veneration  and  admiration  of  Byron,  felt  and  ac- 
knowledged his  genius.  "  He  was,"  says  Ekermann, 
"quite  inexhaustible  when  once  he  began  to  speak 


5J  i.i 


H  ■ 


*  Lord  Byron  ist  nur  gross  ween  er  diclitct,  sobald  er  rcflec- 
tirt.  ist  er  ein  kind. 


r.'  "if 

I  t' 


,.1 


i:h 


14S 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


of  Byron,"  and  as  a  poet  himself,  sympathized  in 


the  transcendent 


imsei 
poetical  powers  he  displayed  ;  but 


as   a  philosopher  and   sage,   Goethe  lamented  the 


abuse,  the 


iated. 


isdirection  of  the  talents  he  appi 
He  reproaches  him  with  the  negative,  the  gloomy 
tendency  of  his  mind ;  he  contrasts  it  with  the 
healthful  cheerfulness  of  such  a  spirit  as  Shak- 
speare's.  Speaking  of  his  strange  attempt  to  de- 
fend and  revive  the  strict  law  of  the  drama  with 
regard  to  the  three  unities,  he  says  pointedly,  "  Had 
he  but  known  as  well  how  to  restrain  himself  withiQ 
tne  fixed  77wral  limits  !" 

In  another  place  he  speaks  with  contempt  of  the 
poets,  imitators  of  Lord  Byron,  "  who  write  as  if 
they  were  all  sick,  and  the  whole  bright  world  a 
laxiar  house."  He  says,  "  It  is  a  real  misuse  and 
abuse  of  poetry,  which  was  given  to  us  to  console 
us  in  the  struggle  of  life,  and  make  man  more  con- 
tent with  the  Vvorld  he  lives  in,  not  less/' 

How  entirely  I  sympathize  with  Goethe,  when 
he  breaks  out  in  indignation  against  the  negative 
and  tbo  satirical  in  poetry  and  art!  He  says, 
*'  When  I  have  called  the  bad— -6afZ,  how  much  is 
gained  by  that "?  The  man  who  would  work  aright 
must  not  deal  in  censure,  intist  not  trouble  himself 
about  what  is  bad,  but  show  and  do  what  is  good  ;^' 
and  this  is  surely  true.  He  says  elsewhere,  that 
when  there  was  doubt  and  contradiction  in  his  mind, 
he  kept  it  within  himself;  he  gave  to  the  public  only 
the  assured  result,  (or  what  he  considered  such,) 
when  he  had  arrived  at  it.  This  firmness  of  tone,  this 
lofty  and  cheerful  view  of  the  universe  and  huraa- 


\ 


i        'i 


GOETHE. 


149 


nity,  strike  us  particularly  in  many  of  Goethe's 
works.  He  says  himself,  that  the  origin  of  most  of 
his  lyrics  was  truth  ;  some  real  incident,  some  real 
sentiment ;  and  some  of  his  fine  moral  poems — for 
instance,  those  which  he  has  entitled  **  Griinzen  der 
Menschheit"  and  "  Das  Gottliche,"  remind  me  of 
Wordsworth,  in  tlie  pure  healthful  feeling,  as  well 
r\i  the  folicity  and  beauty  of  the  expression  through 
whicli  it  has  found  a  channel  to  our  hearts. 

lie  says  of  Winckelmann,  with  untranslatable 
felicity,  "  Man  Icrnt  nichts  vvenn  ma.,  ihn  lieset, 
aber  man  wird  etvvas." 

This  next  is  amusing,  and  how  frankly  magnani- 
mous! He  says,  "  People  talk  of  originality — 
what  do  they  mean  ?  As  soon  as  we  are  born  the 
surrounding  world  begins  to  operate  upon  us,  and 
so  on  to  the  end.  And,  after  all,  what  can  we  truly 
call  our  own,  but  cvergy^ power,  ic'dl  1  Could  I  point 
out  all  that  I  myself  owe  to  my  great  forerunners 
and  cotemporaries,  truly  there  would  remain  but 
little  over!" 

Goethe  could  afford  to  say  this  ! 

He  speaks  of  Schiller  so  affectionately,  and  with 
such  a  fine,  just  discrimination  of  his  powers  !  "All 
in  Schiller  was  high  and  great — his  deportment,  his 
gait,  the  mould  of  his  limbs,  his  least  motion,  was 
dignified  and  grand — only  his  eyes  were  soft."  And, 
adds  Goethe,  "  like  his  form  was  his  talent.  We 
lived  together,"  he  says,  "  in  such  close,  such  daily 
intimacy,  so  in  one  another^  that  of  many  thoughts 
which  occur  in  the  works  of  both,  it   would  be  a 

13* 


:•  •  '>A\ 


'  \' 


1.    I  4 


i 


f<  N 


160 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


illl 


PI 


ii  h 


:  h,. 


■iiv 


■'  H- 


1'  •• 


I  I'l 


question  whether  they  originated   vrith  the  one  or 
the  other." 

The  two  great  men  thus  bound  together  during 
their  lives,  were,  after  Schiller's  death,  placed  in  a 
kind  of  rivalshlp  ;  and  still  the  partisans  of  the  dif- 
ferent literary  factions  dispute  where  no  dispute 
ought  to  exist.  Coleridge  says  that  '*  Schiller  is  n 
thousand  times  more  heart ij  than  Goethe,  and  that 
Goethe  does  not,  nor  ever  will,  command  the  com- 
raon  mind  of  iho  people  as  Schiller  does,"  I  helievc 
it  to  be  true.  The  reason  is,  that  Schiller  has  with 
him  generally  the  womtMi  and  the  young  men,  i.  c. 
those  whose  opinions  and  feelings  are  most  loudly, 
most  enthusiastically  expressed.  Goethe, in  allusion 
to  this,  says  playfully,  "  Now  have  the  public  been 
disputing  for  these  twenty  years  which  of  the  two 
is  greatest,  Schiller  or  myself  I  Let  them  go  and 
be  thankful  that  have  two  such  fellows  to  dispute 
about !" 

He  speaks  of  the  new  school  of  critical  histori- 
ans, who  have  endeavored  to  prove  that  all  ancient 
history  is  fable. 

•*  Till  now,"  he  says,  "  the  world  has  believed  in 
the  heroism  of  a  Lucretia,  a  Mutius  Scaevola,  and 
has  been  warmed,  and  inspired  by  the  idea.  Now 
comes  some  historical  critic,  and  assures  us  that 
these  personages  never  had  a  real  existence  ;  that 
it  is  a^.i  tic 'ion  and  fable,  invented  by  the  grand 
imagination  of  the  old  Romans.  What  have  we  to 
do  with  such  pitiful  truth !  Xf  the  Romans  were 
great  enough  to  invent  suc'i  things,  let  us  at  least  be 
great  enough  to  believe  in  thera  I" 


Mi' 


HISTORICAL    SCEPTICISM. 


151 


Here  I  s'lould  think  he  was  speaking  more  play- 
fully and  feelingly  than  seriously  and  critically  j  and 
is  it  not  charming  ? 

He  goes  on — "  I  used  to  be  delighted  with  a  cer- 
tain fact  in   the  history  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
where  the   Emperor  Frederic   II.   being   engaged 
against  the  P   pe,  all  the  north  of  Germany  luy  open 
to  invaders.      Tlie  Asiatic  hordes  advanced  even  into 
Silesia,  where  ihe  Duke  of  Leignitz  defeated  ihem: 
they  turned  back  to  Moravin,  there  the  Count  Stern- 
berg  beat    them.     These    gallant    warriors    have 
hitherto  lived  in  my  imagination  as   the  saviours  of 
the   (Jern''.dn   nation.     Now   comes  your   historical 
critic,  and  he  tells  me  that   these  heroes  sacrificed 
themselves  very  unnecessarily,  for  that  of  the  Turkish 
army  would   doubtless  have  retired  of  itself — so  is 
a  grand  patriotic  deed  lessened  and  maligned,  and 
one  is  put  horvil^^y  out  of  humor."     It  is  plain  that 
Goethe,  like  Johnson,  did  not  like  to  have  Yas  faggot 
disturbed. 

He  adds,  farther  on,  that  in  poetry  this  kind  of 
sceptical  criticism  is  not  so  mischievous.  "  Profes- 
sor Wolf  has  destroyed  Homer,  but  he  could  do 
nothing  to  the  poem  itself,  for  the  Iliad  is  en- 
dued with  the  miraculous  property  of  the  heroes 
in  the  Valhalla,  who,  though  hewed  to  piecies  in  the 
morning  fight,  always  sit  down  to  dinner  with  whcla 
limbs." 

But  there  is  no  end  to  thii' — I  must  stop ;  yet 
this  about  Shakspeare  is  so  beautiful  I  must  have  it 
down. 

"  How   inconceivably  rich  and   great    is   Shak- 


I '. 


Vi 


■  '*B 


M^^"" 


■■;t!P"iim  luw 


,f 


152 


WINTER    STUDIE?. 


speare !  There  is  no  motive*  in  human  existence 
which  he  has  not  represented  and  expressed,  and 
with  what  ease  and  freedom  !  One  cannot  speak  of 
Shakspeare,  it  is  all  insufficient.  I  have  in  the  Wil- 
helm  Meister,  groped  about  him,  but  it  is  mere  tri- 
fling ;  he  is  no  play-writer,  he  never  thought  of  a 
stage  ;  it  was  too  narrow,  too  paltry  a  space  for  his 
mighty  spiiit :  yes,  even  the  great  visible  universe 
itself  was  for  him  in  space  too  narrow  ! 

"  Nay,  he  is  too  rich,  too  mighty.  A  productive 
poet  should  road  but  oii'^  piece  of  his  in  the  year,  or 
he  will  wreck  himself  in  the  vain  attempt  to  reach 
the  tttrrcaihahle.  "I  did  well,"  he  adds,  that  in  wri- 
ting my  Gotz  and  my  Egmont,  I  shook  him  off  my 
shoulders.  How  many  excellent  German  poets 
have  been  destroyed  through  him  and  Calderon  ? 
for  Shakspeare,"  he  adds  fancifully,  "  presents  to  us 
golden  apples  in  cups  of  silver  ;  through  the  study 
of  his  works  we  get  hold  of  the  cups  of  silver,  but 
alas,  we  put  potatoes  into  them." 

I  close  my  book,  and  so  good  night ! 

Where  is  he  now,  he  who  disappeared  and  could 
not  be  lost  1 — sitting  with  his  Shakspeare  and  his 
Schiller  up  there  among  the  stars  in  colloquy 
sublime  ?  and  Walter  Scott  standing  bv  with  love 
and  thought  upon  his  spacious  brow — What  a  partic 


I 


carree  ! 


*  The  meaning  of  the  •word  motive,  in  German  criticism, 
should  perhaps  be  explained.  It  is  used  to  signify  any  cause 
vout  of  which  the  action  or  consequence  springs.  They  have 
*'     verb  mollviren,  and  they  say  of  a  drama,  or  any  fiction,  thai 

,s  well  or  ill  viotivirt. 


f 


THE    SUPERNATURAL. 


Ir" 


i>o 


Mmch  15. 


;; 


This  last  paragii»pli,  vvliich  I  wrote  last  evening, 


bed  with  mv  head  full  of  all 


of 


sent  me 

thoughts  and  memories  and  fancies  ;  and  not  being  in 
a  studious  mood  this  miserably  cold  night, I  draw  my 
writing-table  close  to  the  fire,  and  bestow  all  my 
tediousness  on  you,  and  if  it  were  twice  as  much, 
and  you  were  twice  as  far  off",  I  would  bestow  it  on 
you  ifitk  all  my  heart — would  vou  not  accept  the 
bargain  1 

I  have  been  :rjucli  busied  to-day  with  domestic 
matters,  for  we  are  preparing  to  change  our  resi- 
dence for  a  new  house  never  yet  inhabited,  and  now 
I  am  alone  in  my  room.  I  feel  tired,  and  have  fal- 
len into  a  very  dismal  and  fantastic  mood. 

Whence  and  what  are  we,  "  that  things  whoso 
sense  we  see  not,  frey  us  with  things  that  be  not?" 
If  I  had  the  heart  of  that  wondrous  bird  in  the  Per- 
sian tales,  which  being  pressed  upon  a  human  heart, 
obliged  that  heart  to  utter  truth  through  the  lips, 
sleeping  or  waking,  then  I  think  I  would  inquire 
how  far  in  each  bosom  exists  the  belief  in  the  super- 
natural 1  In  many  minds  which  I  know,  and  other- 
wise strong  minds,  it  certainly  exists  a  hidden  source 
of  torment ;  in  others,  not  stronger,  it  exists  a  source 
of  absolute  pleasure  and  excitement.  I  have  known 
people  most  wittily  ridicule,  or  gravely  discounte- 
nance, a  belief  in  spectral  appearances,  and  all  the 
time  I  could  see  in  their  faces  that  once  in  their 
lives  at  least  they  had  been  fiightened  at  their  own 
shadow.  The  conventional  cowardice,  the  fear  of 
ridicule,  even  the  self-respect  whicb  prevents  inte}- 


<   'I  'K 


It  mi 


I     l!"', 


154 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


ligent  person",  from  revealing  the  exact  truth  of  what 
passes  through  thcirownmindson  this  point,  deprives 
us  of  a  means  to  trace  to  its  sources  and  devclope 
an  interesting  branch  of  Psychology.  Between 
vulgar  credulity  and  exaggeration  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  absolute  scepticism  and  materialism  of  some 
would-be  philosophers  on  the  other,  lies  a  vast  space 
of  debateable  ground,  a  sort  of  twilight  region  or 
li?nfjo,  through  which  1  do  not  see  my  way  distinctly. 
One  of  the  most  gifted  and  accomplished,  as  well  as 
most  rational  and  most  practical  characters  I  ever 
met  with,  once  said  to  me  seriously,  "  I  thank 
God  I  do  not  believe  in  the  impossihU'Uy  of  any 
thing." 

How  far  are  ourperceptions  confined  to  our  outward 
senses  ?  Can  any  one  tell  ] — for  that  our  perceptions 
are  not  wholly  confined  to  impressions  taken  in  by 
the  outward  senses  seems  the  only  one  thing  proved ; 
and  are  such  sensible  impressions  the  only  real  ones  1 
When  any  one  asks  me  gaily  the  so  common  and 
common-place  question — common  even  in  these  our 
rational  times — "  Do  you  now  really  believe  in 
ghosts?"  I  generally  answer  as  gaily — "I  really 
don't  know!"  In  the  common,  vulgar  meaning  of 
the  words,  I  certainly  do  not ;  but  in  the  reality  of 
many  things  termed  imaginary  I  certainly  do. 

While  I  was  staying  at  Weimar,  in  Goethe's  house, 
a  very  pretty  little  soiree  was  arranged  for  me  at 
Madame  d'Alefeldt's ;  there  were  no  cards  that 
evening  ;  and  seated  round  a  table  vre  became  ex- 
tremely talkative  and  confidential,  and  at  last  we 
took  to  relatir:g  ghost  stories.     It  should  seem  that 


GHOST    STORIES. 


155 


Uermany  is  still  like  Ireland,  the  land  of  the  super- 
natural, as  well  as  the  land  of  romance.  There  was 
something  quite  delightful  in  the  good  faith  and  the 
perfect  scricux  of  some  of  the  narrators,  as  well  as 
some  of  the  listeners — myself  included. 

Baron  Sternberg  gave  us  a  story  of  an  appari- 
tion at  his  sister's  castle  in  Livonia  ;  it  was  admira- 
ble, and  most  admirably  told,  though,  truly,  it  seem- 
ed the  last  of  all  apparitions  that  one  would  have 
expected  to  haunt  a  castle  in  Livonia,  for  it  was  that 
of  Voltaire. 

Then  the  grand  Duke  gave  us  the  history  of  a  cer- 
tain Princess  of  Hudolstadt,  whose  picture  is  at 
Kochberg,  and  who.  in  the  estimation  of  her  family, 
had  the  gift  of  prophecy,  of  seeing  visions,  and 
dreaming  dreams;  but  such  visions  and  such 
dreams — so  wild,  so  poetical,  and  even  so  gro- 
testpie — shadowing  forth  the  former  and  future  des- 
tinies of  her  family!  and,  in  truth,  the  whole  story, 
and  the  description  of  the  old  cabtle  of  Jludolstadt, 
and  the  old  court,  and  the  three  old  superannuated 
princesses,  likogolhic  figures  woven  into  tapestry — 
so  stately  and  so  stilf,  and  so  ugly,  and  withal  so 
tinged  with  the  ideal  and  romantic,  were  given  with 
so  much  loveliness  of  detail,  and  so  mrch  graphic 
spirit,  that  I  was  beyond  measure  amused  and  in- 
terested. I  thought  I  saw  them  before  me,  and 
methinks  I  see  tl.em  now. 

In  return  for  this  tale,  I  gave  from  the  best  autho- 
rity that  of  Crofton  Croker,  the  history  of  the  Irish 
banshee,  and  particularly  of  that  identical  banshee, 
whose  visitations  as  the  hereditary  attendant  on  my 


i4i     I  rti 


?   !! 


ii  J* 


!  'li' 


't  ii 


.'i  I, 


I 

pp^^' 

j 

4 

i 

15G 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


W  '  ' 

s'fl 

i  i' 


;*?; 


/;  ^.1 


own  family  1  had  painful  reason  to  remember.  My 
banshee  pleased  universally  ;  to  most  of  the  com- 
pany the  idea  was  something  new,  and  1  liave  even 
hopes  that  it  may  have  inspired  Sternberg  with  a 
pendant  to  his  poem  on  King  O'Donohue. 

The  conversation  turned  naturally  upon  heredi- 
tary apparitions  and  spectral  penances,  the  fiuit  of 
ancestral  crimes,  on  which  superstition  (Jrillparzer 
has  founded  his  line  lyric  drama  of  "  The  Ahnfrau." 
The  castle  of  the  W family,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Weimar,  was  menlioned  as  subject  to  this 
species  of  ghostly  visitation.  Two  individuals  pre- 
sent, who  had  been  on  a  visit  to  this  castle,  spoke 
of  the  phantom  avec  cotmahxancc  defiil.  The  pre- 
sent Baroness  W ,  who  had  been   brought  up 

among  enlightened  and  intelligent  people,  declared 
herself  perfectly  incredulous,  and  after  her  marriage 
went  to  inhabit  the  castle  of  her  husband,  in  all  the 
assurance  that  common  sense  and  philoso})hy  could 
give  ;  but — so  went  the  talc — it  ha[)pened  that  soon 
after  the  birth  of  her  eldest  child,  she  awoke  at 
midnight,  and  beheld  an  unciuthly  being  bending 
over  the  cradle  of  her  infant — more,  as  it  seemed, 
in  love  and  benediction  than  with  any  unholy  pur- 
pose ;  however,  from  this  time  they  said  that  she 
had  not  willingly  inhabited  the  castle  of  her  hus- 
band's ancestors. 

In  the  family  of  the  Baron ,  whose  castle  is 

also  in  the  heighborhood  of  Weimar,  there  is  a 
gold  ring  of  marvellous  power,  given  by  some 
supernatural  being  to  a  former  Baron,  with  the  as- 
surance  that  as  long  as  it  remained   in  the  castle, 


::l^ 


V:: 


.i<. 


.: 


CIHOST    STORIES. 


157 


good  fortune  would  attend  the  family.  Every  expe- 
riment made  of  late  by  unbelieving  barons  to  put 
this  tradition  to  the  test  has  been  followed  by  some 
signal  disaster,  the  last  time  by  a  destructive  fire, 
which  consumed  nearly  the  whole  castle.  This  sto- 
ry also  was  very  well  told. 

It  shouM  seem  that  in  these  little  German  states 
there  was  always  some  ancestor,  some  prince  with 
a  kind  of  Blue-Beard  renown,  to  serve  as  the  hero 
for  all  the  tales  of  horror — the  bug-a-boo  to  frighten 
the  children.  Duke  Ernest  August  plays  the  role 
(lu  tyran  in  the  history  of  Saxe  Weimar,  He  %/a8 
not  only  a  tyrant,  but  atheist,  alchemist,  magician, 
and  heaven  knows  what  besides.  Now,  there  *vas  a 
profligate  adventurer,  named  Caumartin,  who  had 
insinuated  himself  into  the  favor  of  the  Duke,  be- 
came his  chamberlain,  and  assisted  him  in  hi  niugi- 
cal  and  chemical  researches.  It  is  a  tradition,  that 
one  of  the  ancestors  of  this  princely  family  had  dis- 
covered the  philosopher's  stone,  and  had  caused  the 
receipt  to  be  buried  with  him,  denouncing  a  terri- 
ble malediction  on  whoever  should  violate,  from 
avaricious  motives,  his  last  repose.  Duke  Ernest 
persuaded  Caumartin  to  descend  into  the  family 
vault,  and  pluck  the  mighty  secret  from  the  coffin  of 
his  ancestor.  Caumartin  unden..'':  the  task  with 
gay  audacity,  and  remained  two  huurs  in  the  vault. 
On  re-ascending,  he  looked  pale  and  much  changed, 
and  took  solemn  leave  of  his  friends,  as  a  man  con- 
demned to  death.  They  mocked  at  him  of  course^ 
but  on  the  third  day  afterwards  he  was  found  dead 
on  the  floor  of  his  room,  his  rapier  in  his  hand,  hi« 

VOL.  I.  14 


\ 


t 


n  V 


158 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


?H 


t      ■ 


clothes  torn,  and  his  features  distorted,  as  if  by  a 
fearful  struggle. 

This  story  so  oft  repeated  in  different  ages  and 
countries,  and  in  every  variety  and  form,  appeared  to 
me  curious  in  a  philosophical  and  historical  point  of 
view.  Duke  Ernest  August  lived  at  the  time 
when  a  wild  superstitious  credulity,  a  belief  in  ma- 
gic and  alchemy,  rose  up  simultaneously  with  the 
most  daring  scepticism  in  religious  matters,  both 
becoming  fashionable  in  Germany,  France,  and 
England,  at  the  same  tiine.  It  was  the  reign  of 
Cagliastro  and  his  imitators  and  disciples.  Do  you 
not  recollect,  in  the  Baroti  do  Grimm's  memoirs,  the 
story  of  a  French  adventurer,  who  was  received  into 
the  first  circles  of  Paris  as  a  supernatural  being? 
He  was  said  to  possess  the  elixir  of  life,  and  the 
wandering  Jew  was  apparently  a  youth  to  him  in 
point  of  longevity.  In  the  house  of  the  Marechal 
de  Mirepoix  he  onct  sat  down  to  the  harpsichord, 
and  played  a  piece  of  music  of  sublime  and  surpass- 
ing beauty.  All  inquired  whether  it  was  his  own 
compositicm,  or  where  it  was  to  be  found  ?  To  which 
he  replied,  with  a  pensive  air — "The  last  time  I 
heard  it  was  when  Alexander  the  Great  entered 
Babylon !" 

Many  more  stories  were  told  that  night  of  various 
interest,  but  all  tinged  with  something  poetical  and 
character istic.  At  last  the  party  separated.  I  re 
turned  home,  and,  while  still  a  little  excited,  we  con- 
tinued to  converse  for  some  time  on  influence  of  fancy 
and  its  various  illusions,  and  the  superstitions  of 
various  times   and  countries.     The  thing  was  al- 


GHOST    STORIES. 


150 


ways  there,  forming,  as  it  seemed,  a  part  of  our  hu- 
man nature,  and  only  modified  and  changed  in  its 
manifestations,  sometimes  by  outward  influences, 
sometimes  by  individual  temperament;  fashion,  or 
in  other  words,  sympathy  and  imitation,  having  pro- 
duced many  ghosts,  as  well  as  many  maniacs,  and 
not  a  few  suicides. 

At  last  we  bade  good  night.  I  lighted  my  taper, 
fixed  in  a  candlestick  of  rather  antique  form,  the 
same  which  had  been  used  when  Goethe  was  chris- 
tened, and  which  I  always  took  in  my  hand  with  due 
reverence.  In  coming  up  to  my  bed-room  I  had  to 
pass  by  the  door  of  the  apartment  in  which  Goethe 
had  breathed  his  last.  It  has  been  from  that  moment 
considered  as  a  sanctuary ;  the  things  remain  un- 
touched and  undisturbed,  and  the  key  is  deposited 
with  the  librarian.  In  the  first  or  ante-room  there 
stands — at  least  when  I  was  at  \7eimar  there  stood 
— a  large  house-clock,  which  had  been  presented  to 
Goethe  on  the  celebration  of  his  jubilee ;  it  is  the 
same  which  stood  in  the  room  of  his  mother,  and 
struck  the  hour  he  was  born  :  after  passing  through 
various  hands,  it  was  purchased  by  the  Grand  Duke 
of  Baden,  and  sent  as  a  gift  to  tho  poet  on  that  me- 
morable occasion.  This  clock,  like  the  rest  of  the 
furniture  of  that  sacred  apartment,  remains  untouch- 
ed, but  on  this  very  night,  by  some  inexplicable  ac- 
cident, just  as  I  arrived  at  the  door,  the  clock  within 
began  to  strike —  one,  two,  three,  four,  and  so  on  to 
twelve.  At  the  first  stroke  I  stopped,  even  my 
breath  almost  stopped,  as  I  listened.  I  looked  not 
to  the  left,  where  the  door  opened  i.ito  that  hallowed 


!■!    l! 


■11 

P  I' 

I 


t- 


f      , 


I 


I'' 
f 


}■ 

■j ''  '• 

m 


160 


WINTER   STUWES. 


.iii 


chamber  of  death  and  immortality  ;  I  looked  not  to 
the  right,  where  the  dark  hollow  of  the  staircase 
seemed  to  yawn — nor  yet  before  me ;  but,  with  my 
eyes  fixed  on  the  silver  relic  I  held  in  ray  hand,  I 
stood  quite  still.  The  emotion  which  bound  up  my 
powers  in  that  moment  was  assuredly  the  farthest 
possibly  from  fear,  or  aught  resembling  it — it  was 
only  a  sound,  but  it  was  the  same  sound  and  hour 
which  had  ushered  into  the  world  one  of  the  great- 
est and  most  gifted  spirits  whom  God,  in  his  supreme 
goodness,  had  ever  sent  to  enlighten  the  world,  and 
to  enlarge  the  bounds  of  human  delight  and  im- 
provement ;  it  was  the  same  sound  and  hour  which 
sent  it  to  mingle  with  the  great  soul  of  nature,  to  be 

A  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder  to  the  song  of  night's  sweet  bird ; 
To  be  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light. 

And  so  in  the  silence  and  the  loneliness  of  the 
night,  as  those  sounds  fell  deliberately  one  by  one, 
they  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  air  around  me,  to  enter 
in  at  my  ears  aiid  thrill  down  to  my  finger  ends, 
and  I  saw  the  light  tremble  which  I  held  before  me. 
But  sense  and  the  power  of  motion  returned.  In 
the  next  moment  I  was  in  my  room  and  seated  in 
HIS  chair,  with  a  steady  pulse  and  a  calm  spirit,  glad 
to  brciihe  again  "  queen  o'er  myself," — my  reason- 
able self;  yet  would  I  not  have  missed  the  strange, 
the  overpowering,  deliciously  awful  feelings  of  those 
well-remembered  moments — no — not  for  the  uni- 
verse !     Short  and  transient  as  they  have  been,  they 


'    »! 


Me 


GOETHE    AND    EKERMANN. 


161 


hencefortli  belong  to  the  tissue  of  my  life  :  were  I 
to  live  a  centur-  ,  1  cannot  forget  them,  nur  would  I 
dare  to  give  them  expression — if  indeed  there  are 
words  which  could  express  them. 

#  *  *  *  ♦ 


iMarch  IG. 

I  was  idle  to-day,  and,  instead  of  going  on  regu- 
larly with  my  book,  I  tinned  over  the  leaves,  and 
dwelt  upon  passages  here  and  there,  as  people,  whea 
they  (trc  nice  and  are  not  hungry,  capriciuusly  jiick 
out  tit-bits. 

The  attempt  to  note  down  all  that  I  would  wish 
to  retain  iu  my  memory  of  this  delightful  book,  I 
find  h(>i)eless,  (juite.  At  first  I  fancied  it  something 
like  lioswell  t  noihiiic:  can  be  more  unlike.  The 
difference  between  Dr.  Joliiison  and  Goethe  is  not 
greater  than  the  diflerence  between  Ekermann  and 
Boswell.  Boswcll's  be  ok  is  delicious,  but  the  man's 
personal  character  is  always  in  the  way;  wo  profit 
often  by  his  indiscretion,  but  his  indiscriminate  tri- 
fling as  often  disgusts.  Johnson,  in  his  book,  is  the 
"  great  Colossus"  best.'iding  this  narrow  world,  with 
a  Pharos  in  one  hand,  and  a  bundle  of  darts  in  the 
other;  but  in  Ekermann's  book  Goethe  is  nothing 
less  than  the  "  Olympian  Juj)iter,"  sca'td  at  his 
table  and  dispensing  nectar  and  ambrosia,  while  ho 
plays  child-liko  with  his  own  lightnings.*  Boswell's 

*  There  is  now  a  melancholy  propriety  in  ihc  basso  relievo 
over  the  entruncc  to  Goiithe's  apartment,  in  his  house  at  Wc\- 


'   ?      I'  'i 


I.;! 

•>    1. 
'•    ?' 


P 

I 

m 


^  I  M 


'fe.  f 

}     n  i 


I  iJif 

I I  ill 


\ '' 

\^l 

^ 

I 

^im 

I*!    \ 

! 

\;:  :      , 

1 

ij! 


162 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


m'n 


';M 


•ii-: 


mefldling  coxcombiy  and  servility  someti  aes  place 
his  greut  patron  in  ho  very  dignified  position  ;  and 
the  well-known  similes  of  the  monkey  on  the  bear's 
back,  and  the  puppy  in  the  lion's  den,  seem  hardly 
too  severe.  Were  I  to  find  a  simile  for  Ekermann, 
I  should  say  he  is  like  a  thrush  singing  under  the 
wincf  of  a  ^vc  it  orlo,  sometimes  overslmdowed  by 
his  mighty  ni  ;ster,  but  not  ovcrdazzled,  not  over- 
awed by  the  "  terrors  of  his  beak  and  lightning  of 
his  eyes" — always  himself — and,  as  himself,  always 
amiable,  always  respectable.  His  simplicity,  his 
uprightness,  and  his  gentleness,  his  poetical  and  ar- 
tist-like feeling,  arc  always  delightful  :  one  must 
love  him  for  his  own  sake  as  well  as  Goethe's. 

Yet  a  translation  of  this  book  would  hardly  please 
in  England  ;  it  deals  in  "  notions  more  than  in 
facts,"  and  in  speculations  and  ideas,  more  than  in 
anecdotes  and  personalities.  It  is  necessary  to  take 
a  strong  interest  in  German  literature  and  societv, 
and  in  the  fine  arts  generally,  to  care  about  a  great 
deal  of  it;  it  is  something  like  Coleridge's  "  Table 
Talk,"  which  certainly  few  Germans  would  like  or 
understand,  though  tlie  criticisms  and  opinions  are 
full  of  interest  for  the  English  reader;  but  it  is  yet 
more  dramatic  and  lively  in  manner. 

When  I  was  first  in  possession  of  this  book,  and 
referring  with  delight  to  some  few  sentences  which 
caught  my  attention,  a  friend  of  mine,  who  had 
known  Goethe  well  and  long,  wrote  me,  in  her  own 

mav;  it  represents  the  empty  throne  of  Jupiter,  with  the  eagle 
cowering  at  its  foot,  and  the  thunderbolts  lying  extinguished  and 
idle. 


i; 


i^ 


GOF.THE    AND    EKEUMANN. 


163 


peculiar  stylo,  some  very  charming  things  of  ita 
character  and  intention  ;  the  meaning,  antl  as  nearly 
as  I  can,  the  words,  I  must  try  to  render  into 
English. 

"  Ekermann's  book,"  said  she,  "  is  the  purest 
altar  that  has  yet  been  erected  to  the  fame  of 
CToethc.  In  times  like  these,  when  the  feeling  of 
reverence  (Pietat)  seems  to  be  fast  departing,  when 
a  young  author  of  talent  takes  up  the  pen,  as  a  sort 
of  critical  dissecting  knife,  mangling  and  prying 
v/'rierc  once  he  trembled  and  adored  ;  when  his  first 
endeavor  is  to  fling  down  that  heaviest  burthen 
upon  the  soul  of  an  egotist — the  burthen  of  admi- 
ration for  the  merits  of  another,  is  it  not  pleasant  to 
meet  with  such  a  book  as  this  1  And  when  every 
thing  one  reads  is  so  artificial,  so  ffernac/it,  so  im- 
])ertinent,  is  it  not  delightful  to  open  a  book  where 
in  every  page  wc  feel  the  pulse-throb  of  a  warm, 
true  heart?  1  do  not  know  if  I  am  right,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  those  who  cannot  admire,  can  have 
nothinsf  in  themselves  to  be  admired;  then  how 
worthy  of  admiration  must  that  man  be,  who  thus 
throws  down  his  whole  heart  and  soul  in  admiration 
before  the  feet  of  another !  the  simplicity  of  this 
entire  abnegation  of  self  lends  to  it  a  certain  dignity. 
There  is  nothing  here  but  truth  and  love — for 
Goethe  loved  Ekcrmann,  and  O  !  how  Ekermann 
loved  Goethe  ! 

"  I  can  have  no  ctiiical  judgment  liere,  and  ought 
not  to  have ;  I  can  only  bear  witness  to  the  general 
truth  of  the  whole — nothing  can  be  truer.  I  cannot 
be,  like  you,  struck  and  charmed  by  particular  pas- 


'i  I 


'>■  M 


Mi^ 


•t^M      1* 


i4^% 


m 


ii 


1G4 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


sajre.-?.  I  was  too  long  a  sort  of  Lady  High  Trea- 
surer to  be  dazzled  or  astonished  now  that  the 
caskets  are  opencfl.  I  greet  the  gems  as  old  ac- 
quainiancc !" 


■■ ,  t 


After  this  cnccjuragino;  testimony,  I  go  on  with 
my  notes  and  my  t?  Mnsluting. 

It  appears  that  Schiller  had  the  jtction  fif  a  theatre 
where  piet'cs  should  be  given  oct.asionalJy  fur  !"">cri 
only,  and  (joelho  seems  to  a)">pri)vc  (f  tlsis:  1  oo 
not.  '1  he  two  -exes  aie  more  than  sutliciently  se- 
parated by  did'erent  duties  and  pursuits  ;  what  tends 
?o  ^o'/^  i:  lie  tl)em  farther  in  their  amusements  cannot 
be  good  for  either.  A  theatre  for  men  only  would 
soon  become  a  bear-garden. 

At  an  evening  jiarty,  some  of  his  own  songs,  to 
which  Ekermann  had  composed  beauiiful  music, 
were  sung  forhim — he  was  much  pleased.  When  all 
was  over  he  observed  to  Ekermann,  th;U  the  songs 
out  of  the  "  Divan,"*  seemed  to  have  no  longer 
any  connexion  with  himself:  "  both  what  is  Orien- 
tal and  what  is  impassioned  in  those  songs,"  said  he, 
"  have  passed  away  from  me  ;  it  is  like  the  cast  skin 
of  a  snake,  which  he  leaves  lying  on  his  path  ;  but 
the  little  song  '  Um  Mitternacht't  remains  with  mo, 
a  living  part  of  my  own  life." 

After  several  pages  on  all  manner  of  things,  I 


♦  Written  when  he  was  more  than  seventy, 
t  Written  in  his  early  youth. 


GOETHE  S  TABLE  TALK. 


165 


find  this  remark  on  Schiller :  *'  Through  all  his 
works,"  said  Goethe,  "  we  have  the  idea  o^ freedom. 
And  this  idea  changed  its  form  as  the  genius  and 
character  of  Schiller  were  progressively  developed. 
Tn  his  early  age  it  was  physical  freedom,  in  his  lat- 
ter life  the  ideal ;"  and  afterwards  he  says  finely, 
"  that  is  not  freedom  where  we  acknowledge  nothing 
above  ourselves,  1  ..t  that  is  freedom,  when  we  can 
reverence  something  greater  than  ourselves." 

He  says  of  La  Grange,  "  he  was  a  good  man, 
and  even  through  that,  he  was  truly  great ;  for 
when  a  good  human  being  is  gifted  with  talents,  he 
will  work  for  the  moral  benefit  of  the  world,  whe- 
ther he  be  artist,  natural  philosopher,  poet,or  what- 
ever he  may  be."  This  is  like  what  Weber  wrote 
to  Mendolsohn. 

Fr-ther  on  he  says,  "  All  that  is  great  and  distin- 
guished must  be  in  the  minority.  There  have  been 
ministei'S  who  had  both  people  and  sovereign 
against  them,  and  yet  have  accomplished  their  own 
great  plans  ;  it  is  not  to  be  hoped  that  reason  will 
ever  be  popular.  Passion,  feeling,  may  be  popu- 
lar ;  but  reason  will  be  the  possession  of  the  few." 


•ii-    .);'' 


Si 


i    s     ''».* 


'Vl 


iJ.3i  / 


March  G. 
I  have  often  thought  and  felt,  that  while  in  Eng- 
land we  have  political  liberty,  we  have  nothing  like 
the  personal  and  individual  freedom,  the  social 
liberty  of  the  Germans,  even  under  their  worst  go- 
vernments.    The  passage  which  follows  has,  there- 


\im\ 


nr. 


166 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


fore,  struck  me  particularly.  Goiithe,  in  speaking 
with  approbation  of  Guizot,  quotes  his  remark,  that 
•'  from  the  old  Germans  we  derive  the  idea  of  per- 
sonal freeci-rii.  which  was  especially  characteristic 
of  that  peopi  and  quite  unknown  in  the  ancient 
republics."  "  Is  not  this  true  ]"  said  Goethe.  "Is 
he  not  perfectly  right  1  and  is  not  the  same  idea 
prevalent  among  the  Germans  of  our  own  time  'I 
From  this  source  sprung  the  Reformation,  and  not 
less  the  various  complexion  of  our  literature.  The 
continual  striving  after  originality  in  our  poets,  so 
that  each  thinks  it  necessary  to  make  or  find  a  new 
path  for  himself,  the  isolation*  and  ecctjntric  habits 
of  our  learned  men,  where  each  will  utand  on  his 
ground,  and  work  his  aim  out  of  hi.?  individual 
mind,  all  come  from  the  same  cause.  The  French 
and  the  English,  on  the  contrary,  hold  more  toge- 
ther, and  the  people  all  imitate  one  another.  There 
is  something  uniform  in  their  dress  and  behavior; 
they  are  afraid  to  swerve  from  a  given  fashion,  to 
make  themselves  peculiar  or  ridiculous.  But  in 
Germany  every  man  follows  his  humor,  without 
troubling  himself  about  others  ;  each  man  endea- 
vors to  suffice  to  himself;  for  in  each  man,  as 
Guizot  has  well  observed,  lives  the  idea  of  per- 
sonal and  individual  freedom,  from  which  proceeds 
much  that  is  excellent,  and  also  much  that  is 
absurd." 

This  appears  to  me  very  true,  and  must,  I  think, 

*  Vcrisoliiung.  Lsolirung  is  solitude  and  separation — what 
the  French  ca)l  ixolemcnt.  Verisolirung  expresses  isolation  with 
its  injurious  tendency. 


GOBTHE's   table   tALK. 


167 


strike  every  one  who  has  been  in  Germany,  and  felt 
the  interest  which  this  kind  of  individuality  imparts  to 
society  ;  though  certainly  I  have  met  with  travellers 
who  ,vere  not  a  little  put  out  by  it.    Life,  with  them, 
having   hitherto  flowed  on   "  comme   une  gouette 
d'huile  sur  une  table  do  marbre,"  they  know  not 
how  to  understand  the  little  projections   and  anglea 
they  have  to  encounter.     The  women  appear  aflect- 
ed,  and   the  men  quizzical,   precisely  because  the 
former  are  natural  and  tlie  latter   original,   and  all 
very  unlike  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  they  have  left 
behind,  whose  minds,  like  their  bodies,  are  dressed 
in  the  same  fashion. 


t 


I  T 


is 


When  in  Germany,  I  was  accustomed  to   hear 
Madame  de  Stael's  "  Do  TAllemagne"  mentioned,  if 
mentioned  at  all,  with  something  worse  than   con- 
tempt, either  as  forgotten  or  out  of  date.     Her  trite 
information,  her  superficial  criticisms,  her  French 
prejudices,  her  feminine  rashness,  met  v/ith  no  quar- 
ter; but  think  only,  whai  changes  of  opinion,  what 
revolutions   in   criticism,  have  taken   place  within 
thirty  years !    Sir  James  MiTckintosh-'— rich  in  all  the 
lore  of  his  age,  beyond  his  age  in  most  respects  — 
writes  in  1S07,  (only  two  or  three  years  before  Ma- 
dame de  Stacil  produced  her  book,)  of  German  lite- 
rature and  criticism,  as  a  sort  of  terra  incognita^  as 
the  navigators  of  the  fifteenth  century  talked  of  a 
western  continent,  venturing,  but  with  hesitation,  to 
commend  Goi^the,  and  seeming  to  think  his  ideas  on 


■  i.  '.li 


'f 


168 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


I 


^U  ■' 


till 


ii 


art  not  5'^^^Vc  despicable — "  rather  plausible  and  inge- 
nious." He  mentions  the  antipathy  in  France  and 
England  against  German  literature,  and  speaking 
of  distinguished  modern  writers,  who  might  be  con- 
sidered as  likely  to  survive  their  own  age,  he  says, 
"  I  comprehend  even  Goethe  and  Schiller  within  the 
pale  ;  :ind  though  I  know  that  few,  either  in  France 
or  England,  agrc(^  with  me,  I  have  recourse  to  the 
usual  consolation  of  singularity,  that  my  opinion 
will  be  more  prevalent  when  I  am  myself  forgot- 


u 


M>    > 


ten. 

Madame  de  Stael  first  made  a  breach  through 
what  Goethe  himself  called  a  "Chinese  wall  of  pre- 
judices;" and  we  may  pass  through  it  surely  with- 
out trampling  upon  her  who  had  courage  to  open 
the  way  for  us. 

The  Germans  understand  us  better  than  we  under- 
stand them.  To  have  a  far  stronger  stamp  of  na- 
tional character  than  most  other  people,  yet  better 
to  comprehend  and  appreciate  what  lies  in  the 
national  nature  of  other  people,  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  characteristics  of  tlic  Germans,  Their 
language  lends  itself  with  wondrous  richness  and 
flexibility  to  translation  from  evei'y  tongue,  and  their 
catholic  taste  embrucs  all  literature,  without  insist- 
ing on  any  adaptation  to  their  own  canons  of  criti- 
cisms or  hienseance. 

All  that  Goethe  says  of  art  and  artists  is  admira- 
ble— worthy  of  him  who  was  the  greatest  critic  and 
connoisseur  of  his  country  and  age;  for  instance, 
what  he  says  of  Claude  Lorraine :  "  His  pictures 
have  the  highest  possible  truth,  and  not  a  trace  of 


GOETIli:  S    TABLE-TALK. 


169 


h 


reality;  he  knew  the  icJ  world  in  its  minutest  de- 
tails, and  used  these  details  as  a  means  to  express 
the  fairer  world  within  his  own  soul ;  and  that  is  the 
true  ideal,  where  real  means  are  so  used  that  the  ap- 
parent truth  shall  produce  an  illusion  as  if  it  were 
realki/." 

He  calls  architecture  "  cine  erstarrte  musik,^^  an 
expression  as  untranslatable  as  it  is  exquisitely  feli- 
citous. And  many  other  passages  I  leave  unnoted 
with  regret. 

Yet  one  thing  I  must  not  omit,  for  it  has  made 
me  think  much. 

Goethe  appears  to  consider  our  Saviour,  with  the 
twelve  apostles,  as  presenting  too  much  uniformity 
to  be  a  good  subject  for  sculpture.  The  rerciark 
may  possibly  refer  to  the  fjmous  bronzes  of  Peter 
A^ischcr  on  the  tomb  of  St.  Sibald  at  Nuremburg. 
I  was  struck  l)y  the  variety  and  discrimination  ex- 
hibited in  these  ligures ;  yet,  on  recollection,  the 
variety  was  in  the  drapery  and  attitude — in  the  ex- 
ternal, not  internal  character.  It  were  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish in  sculpture  two  such  opposite  chaiacters 
as  St.  John  and  St.  Paul ;  but  how  are  we  to  dis- 
tinguish St.  Andrew  and  St.  Simon,  except  by  an 
external  attribute,  as  that  of  giving  St.  Peter  the 
keys,  and  St.  Bartholomew  his  own  skin  over  his 
arm,  as  at  Milan  ]  How  make  St.  Thomas  look  in- 
credulous ?  So  that,  on  the  whole,  there  must  be 
something  characterless  in  such  a  gro'ip. 

Goethe  says,  that  he  had  selected  from  the  scrip- 
tures a  cyclus  of  twelve  figures  as  suited  to  sculp- 

VOL.  I,  15 


'(  Ui 


'J    'V 


!« 


170 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


ture,  and  presenting  all  together  the  hi.  .'o/y  rf  our 
religion. 

1.  Adam,  as  the  first  man  and  father  of  mankind 
— a  type  of  human  grandeur  and  perfection.  He 
should  have  a  spade,  as  the  first  cultivator  of  the 
earth;  and  to  express  his  character  of  progenitor 
and  parent,  he  should  bo  accompanied  by  a  child, 
looking  up  to  him  with  a  bold  confiding  glance — a 
kind  of  boyish  Hercules,  crushing  a  snake  in  his 
hand  ;  (perhaps  with  reference  to  the  promise.) 

2.  NoAii,  the  beginner  of  a  new  creation,  us  a 
vine-dresser,  who,  by  the  introduction  of  the  grape, 
relieved  the  cares  and  made  glad  the  heart  of  man. 

3.  Moses,  as  the  first  lawgiver. 

4.  After  him,  Isaiah,  us  prince  and  prophet. 

5.  Daniel,  as  the  harbinger  of  the  Messiah. 

6.  Christ,  as  Saviour  and  Redeemer. 

7.  John. 

8.  The  Centurion  of  Capernaum,  as  represent- 
ing the  believer,  the  Christian. 

9.  Next,  the  Mary  Magualene,  as  the  symbol  of 
humanity,  reconciled  to  God  through  repentance. 
These  two  figures,  Faith  and  Repentance,  repre- 
senting the  spirit  of  Christianity. 

10.  Next,  St.  Paul,  as  promulgator  of  its  doc- 
trine. 

11.  Then  St.  James,  as  the  first  missionary, 
representing  the  diffusion  of  Christianity  among 
strange  lands. 

12.  Lastly,  St.  Peter,  as  keeper  of  the  gate  of 
salvation.  He  should  have  an  inquiring,  penetrating 
expression,  as  if  demanding  of  those  who  presented 


OOETHE*S    TABLE-TALK. 


171 


themselves,  whether  they  were  worthy  to  enter  the 
kingdom  of  heaven. 

"  W'hal  do  you  think  of  this  my  cyclus  V*  added 
G  oelhe ;  "  I  think  it  would  be  richer  in  expression 
and  contrast  than  the  twelve  apostles.  The  Moses 
and  the  Magdalene  should  be  seated." 

He  says  that  he  composed  the  witch  scene  in  the 
"  Faust,"  in  the  Borghese  Gardens  at  Rome.  If 
ever  I  visit  those  gardens  again,  what  a  strange 
association  will  now  mingle  itself  with  those  antique 
statues,  and  fountains,  and  classical  temples ! 

There  is  a  great  deal  about  his  new  theory  of 
coloi's,  which  I  read  with  interest,  but  dare  not 
meddle  with,  because  I  do  not  quite  understand  all. 
This  theory,  it  seems,  is  intended  to  supersede 
Newton's  theory  of  light  and  colors :  whether  it 
will  or  not  is  another  thing;  but  as  the  savans  in 
France  have  taken  it  up,  I  suppose  it  will  be  looked 
into  by  our  own  philosophers;  and,  meantime,  which- 
ever way  the  question  may  be  decided  hereafter, 
Goethe's  own  feeling  on  the  subject  will  be  referred 
to  with  interest,  either  as  a  curious  instance  of  self- 
delusion,  or  a  sublime  anticipation  of  future  glory. 

"  On  what  I  have  done  as  a  poet,"  said  he,  "  I 
would  not  presume  much — I  do  not  pique  myself 
on  it" — (hear  this!) — "excellent  poets  have  lived 
as  my  contemporaries — more  excellent  before  me — 
and  others  will  live  after  me ;  but  that,  in  my  own 
age,  I  am  the  only  one  who,  in  the  profound  science 
of  colors,  has  obtained  a  knowledge  of  the  trutJi — 
in  that  1  do  give  myself  some  credit — in  that  only  1 
have  a  consciousness  of  superiority  over  many." 


I    ■    Li''fc 


1^       'sM 


t  i'. 


h': 


.     I 


m 

si 

•  r   1 


'  ■ .) 

■■■.,.,)1 


m 


i<  I 


!i  I 


1  ,i    M 


I    1   'fii 


372 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


This  is  something  like  the  grand,  calm,  self-exul- 
tation of  Milton.  Is  it  as  well  founded? — Methinks 
I  should  like  to  know. 

He  speaks  in  various  places  of  the  unseen,  im- 
perceptible influences  of  all  outward  things  in  form- 
ing the  genius  and  character.  "  Surely,"  he  says, 
"  the  man  who  has  passed  all  his  life  long  beneath 
the  lofty  serious  oak,  will  be  a  very  different  man 
from  him  who  has  lived  beneath  the  shade  of  the 
myrtle  and  the  willow." 

He  says,  feelingly,  "It  is  not  good  fur  man  to  he. 
alone,  and,  above  all,  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  work 
alone ;  he  requires  sympathy,  encouragement,  ex- 
citement, to  succeed  in  any  thing  good  :  in  this  way 
I  may  thank  Schiller  for  some  of  my  best  ballads ; 
and  you  may  take  the  credit  to  yourself,"  he  adds 
kindly  to  Ekermann,  "  if  ever  I  finish  the  second 
part  of  Faust." 

There  is  a  great  deal  all  through  the  second  vol- 
ume relating  to  the  second  part  of  the  Faust,  which 
occupied  Goethe  during  the  last  years  of  his  life, 
and  which  he  finished  at  the  age  of  eighty-two. 
On  completing  it  he  says,  "Now  I  may  consider  the 
remainder  of  my  existence  as  a  free  gift,  and  it  is 
indifferent  whether  I  do  any  thing  more  or  not ;"  as 
if  he  had  considered  his  whole  former  life  as  held 
conditionally,  binding  him  to  execute  certain  objects 
to  which  he  believed  himself  called.  He  survived 
the  completion  of  the  Faust  only  one  year. 

The  purport  of  the  second  part  of  Faust  has 
puzzled  many  German  and  English  scholars,  and  in 
Germany  there  are  already  treatises  and  common- 


V 


. 

il 

11 

■    tr 
i, 

■  i 

Goethe's  table-talk. 


173 


taries  on  it,  as  on  the  Divina  Coramedia.  I  never 
read  it,  and,  if  I  had,  would  not  certainly  venture 
an  opinion  "  where  doctors  disagree ;"  but  I  recol- 
lect that  Von  Hammer  once  gave  me,  in  his  clear 
animated  manner,  a  comprehensive  analysis  of  this 
wonderful  production — that  is,  according  to  his  own 
interpretation  of  it.  "  I  regard  it,"  said  he,  "  as  be- 
ing from  beginning  to  end  a  grand  poetical  piece  of 
irony  on  the  whole  universe,  which  is  turned,  as  it 
were,  wrong  side  out.  Tn  this  point  of  vie^v  I  un- 
derstand it;  in  any  other  point  of  view  it  appears  to 
me  inco"  irehcnsible.  It  contains  some  of  the  most 
splendid     issages  he  has  written." 

E'.  jry  where  Goethe  speaks  of  Sir  W  alter  Scott 
with  the  utmost  enthusiasm  of  admiration,  as  the 
greatest  writer  of  his  time  ;  he  speaks  of  him  as  be- 
ing without  his  like,  as  without  his  equal. 

I  remember  Goethe's  daughter-in-law  saying  to 
me  playfully,  "When  my  father  got  hold  of  one  of 
Scott's  romances,  there  was  no  speaking  to  him  till 
he  had  finished  the  third  volume  :  he  was  worse 
than  any  girl  at  a  boarding-school  with  her  first 
novel !" 

I  have  particular  pleasure  in  noting  this,  because 
I  have  scon  in  several  English  papers  and  reviews 
a  passage  from  some  book  of  travels  in  which 
Goijthe,  on  what  authority  I  know  not,  is  repre- 
sented as  holding  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  the  utmost 
contempt.  This  is  altogether  false  ;  yet  the  same 
passage  I  have  lately  seen  translated  into  American 
pape?'s,  and  thence  into  the  paj)evs  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Canadn.    Thus  over  the  whole  reudino:  world 


f 


lijii 


Ify 


'■^* 


',  ;i! 


I  n 


jIi 


y  ■-, 


'Id 


f  V  ■; 


j  .^IJi 


'     ! 


1 

■ 

!^ 

i 

1: 

\ 
{ 

Uiful 

174 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


is  the  belief  diffused,  that  one  great  genius  couM 
either  be  wretchedly  mistaken  or  enviously  unjust 
in  estimating  another  great  genius — a  belief  as  dis- 
honorable to  genius  and  human  nature,  as  it  is 
consolatory  to  the  common  cry  of  curs,  to  ignorant 
mediocrity,  "for  folly  loves  the  martyrdom  of  fame." 
I  held  in  my  own  hands — read  with  mine  own  eyes 
— a  long  letter  addressed  by  Sir  Walter  to  Goethe, 
giving  an  account  of  his  own  family,  his  pursuits, 
&c.,  as  friend  to  friend,  and  expressive  of  the  utmost 
reverence,  as  well  as  gratitude  for  marks  of  kind* 
uess  and  approbation  received  fiom  Goethe. 

"A  lie,"  says  the  Chinese  proverb,  "has  no  feet, 
it  cannot  stand;"  but  ii  has  wings  and  can  fly  fast 
and  far  enough.  I  only  wish  that  truth  may  be 
able  to  follow  it,  and  undo  the  mischief  thus  done — 
through  some  unintentional  mistake  perhaps, — but 
not  the  less  misc?i ief  nnd  injustice. 


The  following  beautiful  and  original  interpreta- 
tion of  Goethe's  ballad  of  the  "  Erl-King"  is  not  in 
Ekermanii's  book  ;  but  never  mind,  1  give  it  to  you 
in  the  words  in  which  it  was  given  to  me. 

"  Goethe's  '  Erl-Konig'  is  a  moral  r/^legory  of 
deep  meaning,  though.  I  am  not  sure  he  meant  it  as 
such,  or  intended  all  that  it  .signifies. 

'*  There  are  beings  in  the  world  who  sec,  who 
feel,  with  a  finer  sense  than  that  granted  to  other 
mortals.  They  sec  the  sjiiritual,  the  imaginative 
sorrow,  or  danger,  or  terror  which  threatens  them; 


u 


goetiie's  table-talk. 


175 


and  those  who  see  not  with  the  same  eyes,  talk  rea- 
son and  philosophy  to  them.  The  poor  frightened 
child  cries  out  for  aid,  for  mercy ;  and  Papa  Wis- 
dom— worldly  wisdom — answers, 


"Or, 


" '  Mein  Sohn,  es  ist  ein  Nebelstrief  t' 


"  '  Es  scheinen  die  alten  Weiden  s  i  grau !' 


"  It  is  only  the  vapor-wreath,  or  the  gray  willows 
waving,  and  tells  him  to  be  quiet !  At  last  the  poor 
child  of  feeling  is  found  dead  in  the  arms  of  Wis- 
dom, from  causes  which  no  one  else  perceived — or 
believed  !     Is  it  not  often  so  ]" 


What  Goethe  says  of  false  and  true  tendencies  of 
rnind,  and  the  mistaking  a  tendency/  for  a  talent,  de- 
eerves  attention  ;  it  is  a  mistake  wc  often  fall  into, 
both  with  retrard  to  ourselves  and  others. 

He  says,  smiling,  "  People  think  that  a  man  must 
needs  grow  old,  in  order  to  bo  wise;  the  truth  is,  that 
as  years  increase  upon  us,  wo  have  enough  to  do  to 
be  as  good  and  as  wise  as  '■vc  have  been.  *  *  In 
certain  things  a  man  is  ap  likely  to  be  in  the  right  at 
twenty  as  at  sixty." 

On  this  point  there  is  much  more,  to  which  I  sub- 
scribe heartily. 

On  the  subject  of  religion  I  find  this  beautiful  com- 
parison, but  am  not  sui'e  whether  it  be  lOkermann's 


"'I 


I' 


17G 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


il;' 


;i       M  'ft; 


•■ss 


f  H 


or  Goethe's.  "  A  connoisseur  standing  before  the 
picture  of  a  great  master  will  regard  it  as  a  whole. 
He  knows  how  to  combine  instantly  the  scattered 
parts  into  the  general  effect ;  the  universal,  as  well 
as  the  individual,  is  to  him  animated.  He  has  no 
preference  for  certain  portions  :  he  does  not  ask  why 
this  or  that  face  is  beautiful  or  otherwise  ;  why  this 
part  is  light,  that  dark ;  only  he  requires  that  all 
shall  be  in  the  right  place,  and  according  to  the  just 
rules  of  art ;  but  place  an  ignoi'ant  person  lefove 
such  a  picture,  and  you  will  see  that  the  great  de- 
sign of  the  whole  will  either  be  overlooked  by  him, 
or  confuse  him  utterly.  Some  small  portion  will  at- 
tract him,  another  will  offend  him,  and  in  the  end  he 
will  dwell  upon  some  trifling  object  which  is  fami- 
liar to  him,  and  praise  this  helmet,  or  that  feather,  as 
being  well  executed." 

"  VVe  men,  before  the  great  r  .ture  of  the  destinies 
of  the  universe,  play  the  par  of  such  dunces,  such 
novices  in  art.  Here  vve  are  attracted  oy  a  bright 
spot,  a  graceful  conaguratio.. ,  there  we  are  repelled 
by  a  deep  shadow,  a  painful  object;  the  immense 
WHOLE  bewilders  and  perplexes  us ;  we  seek  in 
vain  to  penetrate  the  leading  idea  of  that  great 
Being,  who  designed  the  whole  upon  a  plan  which 
our  limited  human  intellect  cannot  comprehcMd." 


/  ' 


When  Goethe  was  more  than  eighty,  he  purchased 
for  the  first  time,  ;  n  easy  chair.  His  indifference, 
and  even  contempt  fur  tiio  most  ordinary  comfoitii 


GOETHE  S  TABLE  TALK. 


177 


and  luxuries  of  this  kind,  were  anfiu-^ing.  The 
furniture  of  his  study  and  bcd-ro^m  (still  preserved 
as  he  left  them)  is  of  the  most  homely  description. 
A  common  deal  table,  a  wooden  desk,  and  a  high 
stool,  the  very  sight  of  which  gave  mf^  a  pain  in  my 
back,  were  the  only  conveniences.  He  used  to  say, 
that  never  being  accustomed  from  his  youth  to  lux- 
uries and  fine  furniture,  they  took  his  attention  from 
his  work.  But  his  drawing-room  was  elegant — I 
remember  two  very  large  frames,  in  which  he  was 
accustomed  to  dispose  a  variety  of  original  drawings 
by  the  old  masters,  perhaps  eight  or  ten  in  each. 
When  they  had  hung  some  time,  he  changed  them 
for  another  set.  These  were  Ms  luxuries  :  the  set 
of  drawings  which  he  last  selected,  remain  hanging 
in  the  room. 

The  anecdote  related  by  Ekermann  of  the  Roman 
cobbler  who  used  an  antique  head  of  one  of  the 
Caesars  as  a  block  to  hammer  his  leather  on,  reminds 
me  that  the  head  of  the  Ilioneus  was  put  to  a  similar 
use  by  a  cobbler  at  Prague. 

The  most  extraordinary  thing  in  this  bo^k  is  what 
Goethe  calls  "  Das  Diimonische."  I  have  ( I  believe) 
a  kind  of  glimmering  of  what  he  means  :  wliatever 
exercises  a  power,  a  fascination  over  l!ie  mind, 
whatever  in  intellect  or  nature  is  inexplicable, 
whatever  seems  to  have  a  spiritual  existence  apart 
from  all  understood  or  received  laws,  acknowle  Igcd 
as  irresistible,  yet  mocking  all  reason  to  explain  it — 
a  kind  of  intellectual  electricity  or  magnetism — in 
short,  what  vi  r  is  unaccountable — he  classes  under 
the   general  head    of  "  Das    Diimonische  ;"  a  very 


n  I 


i\     I 


■>w 


178 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


I    I 


)  1  >  ;l  it 


"r  fl 


il   :  1l 


I 


convenient  way,  and  truly  a  very  poetical  way,  of 
getting  rid  of  what  one  does  not  comprehend.  It 
is,  he  says,  as  if  ''  Llie  curtain  was  drawn  away  from 
the  background  of  existence."  In  things,  he  in- 
stances as  examples  of  this  Damonische,  music  in 
itself  and  in  its  effect  on  the  mind ;  poetry  of  the 
highest  order ;  and  in  characters  he  instances  Shak- 
spcuie.  Napoleon,  Byron, the  late  Grand  Duke,  (his 
friend,  Karl  August,)  and  others.  But  it  is  danger- 
ous almost  to  go  on  playing  thus  with  his  and  one's 
own  deepest,  wildest  thoughts — and  I  cannot  follow 
them. 

There  are  passages  scattered  up  and  down  this 
book,  which  clearly  prove  that  Goethe  never  consi- 
dered himself  as  one  called  upon  to  take  a  part  in 
the  revolutions  and  political  struggles  of  his  time  ; 
but  because  he  stood  calmly  on  the  "  shore  of  peace 
with  unwet  eye,"  and  let  the  giddy  torrent  whirl 
past  him,  shall  we  infer  that  he  took  no  heed  of  its 
course  ?  Can  we  think  that  this  great  and  gifted 
being,  whose  ample  ken  embraced  a  universe,  had 
neither  symp  itliies  in  the  grandest  interests,  nor 
in  the  brightest  destinies,  of  liur 


hopes   in  the  brightest 

were  a  profanation  to  think  thus 


nty 


"  AUliou2;h  Ills  liGcivt  (so  near  allied  to  earth) 
Cannot  biU  pity  the  perplexed  state 
Of  troublous  and  distressed  mortality, 
Thattl  js  nia-'i  way  unto  the  uji;ly  berth 
Of  thciv  own  sorrows,  and  do  still  begot 
Afflietion  upon  imbecility  . 
Yet  seeing  thus  the  course  of  things  must  run, 
He  looks  thereon  not  str:>ngc,  but  as  foreJone."* 

*  Daniel. 


*  I! 


GOETHE  S    TABLE-TLAK. 


179 


(Even  while  these  lines  were  printing,  Thomas 
Carlyle  has  observed,  with  equal  truth  and  elo- 
quence, "  That  to  ask  of  such  a  mind  as  Goethe's, 
that  he  should  mix  himself  up  with  the  political  tur- 
moils of  the  day,  was  as  if  we  should  call  down  the 
moon  from  the  firmament  of  heaven,  and  convert 
her  ir. to  a  street  ^orch.") 

Great  and  worthy  of  all  gratitude  and  fame  were 
those  men,  who  have  devoted  their  best  faculties, 
poured  out  their  best  blood,  for  the  cause  of  freedom, 
for  the  land  they  called  their  own,  the  principles  they 
espoused  ;  but  greater  far  and  more  worthy  of  gra- 
titude, and  of  purer  and  more  enduring  fame,  the 
very  few,  who  lived  not  for  an  age,  a  country,  but 
for  all  ages — for  all  mankind  ;  who  did  not  live  to 
preach  up  this  or  that  theory,  to  sustain  this  or  that 
sect  or  party,  to  insist  on  this  or  that  truth,  but  who 
lived  to  work  out  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  good, 
and  promote  the  progress  of  the  whole  human  race 
— to  kindle  within  the  individual  mind  the  light 
which  is  true  freedom,  or  leads  to  it.  Such  was  the 
example  left  by  Jesus  Christ — such  a  man  was 
Shakspeare — such  a  man  Avas  Goethe. 


11 


...  ,- 


I  M'l 


4i^:t 


Mcarch  18. 

I  have  before  nie  the  list  of  criminals  tried  at  the 
spring  assizes  here,  and  the  mayor's  charge  to  the 
j'^ry. 

The  calendar  (for  Toronto  only)  contains  forty- 
six. 


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WINTER   STUDIES. 


For  larcenies,  twenty-seven. 

Receiving  stolen  goods,  five. 

Taking  up  goods  under  false  pretences,  one. 

Assaults,  seven. 

Keeping  disorderly  houses,  six. 

The  mayor,  in  his  charge  to  the  jury,  complains 
of  the  increase  of  crime,  and  of  poverty,  wretched- 
ness, and  disease,  (the  natural  causes  of  crime,) 
within  the  bounds  of  the  city,  and  particularly  of 
the  increase  of  street  beggars  and  juvenile  depre- 
dators, ami  he  recommends  the  erection  of  a  house 
of  industry  on  a  large  scale. 

Before  we  can  estimate  the  increase  in  the  num- 
ber of  criminals  as  the  increase  of  crime,  we  must 
look  to  the  increase  of  the  population,  which  is 
enormous.     The  whole    population  of  Upper   Ca- 
nada has  doubled  in   about  nine  years,  the  general 
average  increase  per  annum  being  18,712  ;*  that  of 
Toronto  lias  doubled  within  five  years.     The  whole 
number  of  criminal   convictions  for  the   city  of  To- 
ronto only,  from  the   spring  assizes  of  1832  to  the 
assizes  of  the  present  year,  (1837,)  is  four  hundred 
and  twenty-four  men   and  twenty-five  women  ;  of 
the  former  ten  were  fin-  murder,  and  twenty-three  for 
manslaughter  and  other  violent  crimes  ;   and  amonof 
the  women,  two  were  for  manslaughter,  all  the  rest 
were  for  larcenies  and  j)etty  crimes. 

These  are  very  imperfect  data,  and  <}uite  useless 
where  we  wish  to  come  at  results  ;  nor  can  1  suc- 
ceed in  getting  copies  of  the  yeaily  calendars  in  the 

*  la  1^37,  tlieentirc  po]nilution  of  Ujipcr Canada  was  estl- 
»Med  ut  375,000. 


CRIMINAL    CALENDAR. 


181 


various  districts  to  compare  with  the  yearly  increase 
of  the  population;  the  officials  are  all  too  busy,  and 
know  nothing  except  in  their  own  peculiar  depart- 
ment ;  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  correct  information 
of  any  kind  is  beyond  what  you  can  conceive  ;  and 
this,  too,  where  there  is  no  want  of  good-nature,  and 
the  most  obliging  intentions  ;  but  labor  is  here  the 
state  of  existence  ;  no  one  has  leisure  apparently  to 
interest  himself  about  any  thing  but  what  concerns 
his  own  business  and  subsistence. 


' 


March  23. 
About  a  week  ago  we  removed  into  a  new  house, 
and  I  have  since  been  too  much  occupied  to  go  on 
with  my  studies,  domestic  matters  having  "posses- 
sed me  wholly."  Our  present  residence  has  never 
yet  been  inhabited,  and  is  not  quite  finished.  It 
will  be  very  pretty  and  pleasant,  no  doubt,  when  it 
id  not  so  very  cold  and  comfortless.  We  are  sur- 
rounded by  a  garden  of  some  extent — or,  rather, 
what  will  be  a  garden  at  some  future  time  ;  at  pre- 
sent it  is  a  bleak  waste  of  snow  ;  we  are  so  com- 
pletely blockaded  by  ice  and  mud,  that  to  reach  the 
house-door  is  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  and  even 
danger.  Planks  laid  from  one  snow  heap  to  ano- 
ther form  the  only  aocess  to  the  house-door.  The 
site,  though  now  so  dreary,  must  be  charming  in 
summer,  for  we  command,  at  one  glance,  the  en- 
trance to  the  bay,  the  King's  Pier,  the  lighthouse, 
and  beyond,  the  whole  expanse  of  Lake  Ontario  to 

VOL.    I.  16 


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182 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


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the  Niagara  shore,  which  in  some  particular  .states 
of  the  atmosphere  is  distinctly  visible,  though  dis- 
tant nearly  thirty  miles.  Tliey  say,  that  in  clear 
summer  mornings,  the  cloud  of  spray  rising  from 
the  Falls  can  be  seen  from  this  point.  There  is  yet 
no  indication  of  the  approach  of  spring,  and  I  find 
it  more  than  ever  difficult  to  keep  myself  warm. 
Nothing  in  myself  or  around  me  feels  or  looks  like 
home.  How  much  is  comprised  in  that  little  word  ! 
May  it  but  please  God  to  preserve  to  me  all  that  I 
love  !  But,  O  absence  !  how  much  is  comprised  in 
that  word  too  !  it  is  death  of  tiie  heart  and  darkness 
of  the  soul ;  it  is  the  ever-springing,  ever  dying 
hope;  the  ever-craving,  never-having  wish;  it  i.s 
fear,  and  doubt,  and  sorrow,  and  pain ; — a  state  in 
which  the  past  swallows  up  the  present,  and  the  fu- 
ture becomes  the  past  before  it  arrives  ! 

♦  #  #  # 

h  is  now  seven  weeks  since  the  date  of  the  last 
ieUCis  from  my  dear  far-distant  home.  The  arch- 
deacon told  me,  by  way  of  comfort,  that  when  he 
came  to  settle  in  thif*  country,  there  was  only  one 
mail-post  from  England  in  the  course  of  a  whole 
year,  audit  was  called,  as  if  in  mockery,  "  The  Ex- 
press ;"  now,  either  by  way  of  New-York  or  Hali- 
fax, we  have  a  po.st  almost  every  day. 


I 


w 


March  '20. 
To  those  who  see  only  with  their  eyes,  the  distant 
is  always  indistinct  and   little,  becoming  less  and 


DETACHED    THOUGHTS. 


163 


less  as  it  recedes,  till  utterly  lost ;  but  to  ihe  imagi- 
nation, which  thus  reverses  the  perspective  of  the 
senses,  tlx^  far  off  is  great  and  imposing,  the  magni- 
tude increasing  with  the  distance. 


I  amused  myself  this  morning  with  that  most 
charming  book  **  The  Docj-  ,  ' — it  is  not  the  second 
nor  the  third  time  of  'mg.     How  delicious  it  is 

wherever  it  opens  ! — I  !*  ful  of  erudition  and 

wit,  and  how  rich  in  and  sentiment,  and 

humor !  but  containing  assumptions,  and  opinions, 
and  prognostications,  in  which  I  would  not  believe; 
— no,  not  for  the  world  ! 

Southey's  is  a  mind  at  which  I  must  needs  ad- 
mire ;  he  stands  upon  a  vast  height,  as  upon  a  pin- 
nacle of  learning  ;  he  commands  all  around  an  im- 
naense,  a  boundless  prospect  ov<jr  whatever  human 
intellect  and  capacity  has  achieved  or  may  achieve ; 
but,  from  the  peculiar  construction  of  his  mind,  he 
obstinately  looks  but  one  way — back  to  the  past,  to 
what  has  been  done ;  if  ever  he  looks  to  the  future, 
he  merely  glances  at  it  sideways. 

If  I  might,  like  Solomon,  ask  a  gift  of  God,  I 
would  profit  by  his  mistake.  I  would  not  ask  a 
wise  and  an  unJeratandi/i^  heart  :  for  what  did  his 
wisdom  and  liis  understanding  do  for  him  1  They 
brouglit  him  to  tlie  conclusion,  that  all  under  the 
sun  was  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,  and  that  the 
increase  of  knowledge  was  the  increase  of  soitow, 
and  so  the  end  was  e])icurism,  despair,  and  idolatry. 


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184 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


W:    I. 


II, 


"  O  most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  !"  No  ! — 
I  would  ask,  were  it  permitted,  for  a  simple  heart, 
that  should  not  deceire  itself  or  others,  but  seek 
truth  for  its  own  sake,  and,  having  found  truth,  find 
also  goodness  and  happiness,  which  must  follow  to 
complete  the  moral  harmonic  chord. 

We  are  so  accustomed  to  the  artificial  atmosphere 
round  us,  that  we  lose  sometimes  the  power  of  dis- 
tinguishing the  false  from  the  true,  till  we  call  in 
our  natural  instincts  to  do  for  us  what  our  perverted 
reason  cannot.  They  say  that  the  Queen  of  Pheba 
once  presented  before  Solomon  two  garlands  of 
flowers,  and  desired  him  to  pronounce  which  was 
the  natural,  which  the  artificial  wreath.  The  wis- 
dom of  this  wisest  of  men  did  not  enable  him  to  do 
this  by  the  appearance  only,  so  exquisitely  had  r.rt 
imitated  nature,  till  on  seeing  a  bee  fluttering  near, 
he  called  it  to  his  aid.  The  little  creature  at  once 
settled  the  question  by  alighting  on  the  real  flowers, 
and  avoiding  the  false  ones. 

We  have  instincts  as  true  as  those  of  the  bee  to 
refuse  the  evil  and  to  choose  the  good,  if  we  did  not 
smother  them  up  with  nonsense  and  metaphysics. 
#  #  #  # 

How  true  what  Southey  says !  (the  Doctor  I  mean 
— I  beg  his  pardon,) — "  We  malie  the  greater  part 
of  the  evil  circumstances  in  which  we  are  placed, 
and  then  we  fit  ourselves  for  thooO  circumstances  by 
a  process  of  degradation,  the  effect  of  which  most 
people  see  in  the  classes  below  them,  though  they 
may  not  be  conscious  that  it  is  operating  in  a  differ- 
ent manner,  but  with  equal  force,  upon  themselvci^." 


I 


DETACHED    THOUGHTS. 


185 


The  effect  of  those  pre-ordained  evils — if  they 
are  such — which  we  inherit  with  our  mortal  state ; 
inevitable  death — tlie  separation  from  those  we  love 
— old  age  with  its  wants,  its  feebleness,  its  helpless- 
ness— those  sufferings  which  are  in  the  course  of 
nature,  are  quite  sufficient  in  the  infliction,  or  in  the 
fear  of  them,  to  keep  the  spirit  chastened,  and  the 
reflecting  mind  humble  before  God.  But  what  I  do 
deprecate,  is  to  hear  people  preaching  resignation 
to  social,  self-created  evils ;  fitting,  or  trying  to  fit, 
their  own  natures  by  **  a  process  of  degradation"  to 
circumstances  which  they  ougiit  to  resist,  and  which 
they  do  inwardly  resist,  keeping  up  a  constant, 
wearing,  impotent  strife  between  the  life  that  is 
witJdn  and  the  life  that  is  ivithout.  How  constantly 
do  I  read  this  in  the  countenances  of  those  I  meet 
in  the  world  ! — They  do  not  know  themselves  why 
there  should  bo  this  perpetual  uneasiness,  this  jar- 
ring and  discord  within  ;  but  it  is  the  vain  struggle 
of  the  soul,  which  God  created  in  his  own  image,  to 
fit  its  strong,  immortal  nature  for  the  society  which 
men  have  framed  after  their  own  devices.  A  vain 
struggle  it  is !  succeeding  only  in  appearance,  never 
in  reality, — so  we  walk  about  the  world  the  maskg 
of  ourselves,  pitying  each  other.  When  we  meet 
truth  we  are  as  much  astonished  as  I  used  to  be  at 
the  carnival,  when,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  fan- 
tastic, lifeless,  painted  faces,  I  met  with  some  one 
who  had  plucked  away  his  mask  and  stuck  it  in  his 
hat,  and  looked  out  upon  me  with  the  real  human 
smile. 

16» 


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' 

186 


MINTER    STUDIES. 


Custom  is  a  mere  face,  or  rather  a  mere  mask ; 
as  opinion  is  a  mere  voice — or  less — the  echo  of  a 
voice. 


The  Aurora  Borealis  is  of  almost  nightly  occur- 
rence, but  this  evening  it  has  been  more  than  usu- 
ally resplendent ;  radiating  up  from  the  north,  and 
spreading  to  tht  east  and  west  in  form  like  a  fan, 
the  lower  point  of  i  pale  *vhite,  then  yellow,  amber, 
orange,  successively,  and  the  extremities  of  a  glow- 
ing crimson,  intense,  yet  most  delicate,  like  the 
heart  of  an  unblown  rose.  It  shifted  its  form  and 
hue  at  every  moment,  flashing  and  waving  like  a 
banner  in  the  breeze ;  and  through  this  portentous 
veil,  transparent  as  light  itself,  the  stars  shone  out 
with  a  calm  and  steady  brightness ;  and  I  thought, 
as  I  looked  upon  them,  of  a  character  we  both  know, 
where,  like  those  fair  stars,  the  intellectual  powers 
shine  serenely  bright  through  a  veil  of  passions, 
fancies,  and  caprices.  It  is  most  awfully  beautiful ! 
I  have  been  standing  at  my  window  watching  its 
evolutions,  till  it  is  no  longer  nir      but  morning. 


i '[ 


April  I. 

So,  there  is  another  month  gone ;  and  the  snows 

are  just  begin-^ing  to  disappear,  and  the  flocks  of 

snow-birds  with  them ;  and  the  ice  is  breaking  up 

at  the  entrance  of  the  bay,  and  one  or  two  little  ves- 


,  ;) 


TORONTO. 


187 


seh  have  ventured  as  far  as  the  King's  Wharf;  and 
the  wind  blows  strong  to  dry  up  the  mehing  snow, 
and  some  time  or  other,  perhaps,  spring  will  come, 
and  this  long  winter's  imprisonment  will  be  at  an 
end.  Yes;  I  have  been  spoiled  during  these  last 
years — I  have  been  existing  only  for,  and  by,  the 
higlicst  faculties  of  my  being — have  lived  through 
admiration,  hope,  and  love,  "  until  aversion  and  con- 
tempt were  things  I  only  knew  by  name;"  and  now 
another  time  is  come — how  ill,  how  very  ill  I  bear 
it! 

This  is  the  worst  season  in  Canada.  The  roads 
are  breaking  up,  and  nearly  impassable  ;  lands  are 
flooded,  and  in  low  situations  there  is  much  sickness, 
particularly  ague.  We  have  still  sixteen  square 
miles  oi  ice  within  the  bay. 

The  market  at  Toronto  is  not  well  supplied,  and 
is  at  a  great  distance  from  us.  The  higher  class  of 
people  are  supplied  with  provisions  from  their  own 
lands  and  farms,  or  by  certain  persons  they  know  and 
employ.  With  a  little  management  and  forethought, 
we  now  get  on  very  well ;  but  at  first  we  had  to  suf- 
fer great  inconvenience.  Quantities  of  salted  pro- 
visions are  still  imported  into  the  country  for  the 
consumption  of  the  soldiers  and  distant  settlers,  and 
at  certain  seasons — at  present,  for  example — there 
is  some  difficulty  in  procuring  any  thing  else. 

Our  table,  however,  is  pretty  well  supplied.  Beef 
is  tolerable,  but  lean;  mutton  bad,  scarce,  and  dear- 
er than  beef;  pork  excellent  and  delicate,  being  fat- 
tened principally  on  Indian  corn.  The  fish  is  of 
many  various  kinds,  and  delicious.      During  the 


it' 


'       1! 

H 


188 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


whole  winter  we  had  black-bass  and  white-fish, 
caught  in  holes  in  the  ice,  and  brought  down  by  the 
Indians.  Venison,  game,  and  wild  fowl  are  always 
to  be  had  ;  the  quails,  which  are  caught  in  immense 
numbers  near  Toronto,  are  most  delicate  eating ;  I 
lived  on  them  when  I  could  eat  nothing  else.  What 
they  G<ri  <  artriclge  here  is  a  small  species  of  phea- 
sant, aiso  very  good;  and  now  we  are  promised 
snipes  and  woodcocks  in  abundance.  The  wild 
goose  is  also  excellent  eating  when  well  cooked,  but 
the  old  proverb  about  Heaven  sending  meat,  &c.  &c. 
is  verified  here.  Those  who  have  farms  near  the 
city,  or  a  country  establishment  of  their  own,  raise 
poultry  and  vegetables  for  their  own  table.  As  yet 
I  have  seen  no  vegetables  whatever  but  potatoes ; 
even  in  the  best  seasons  they  are  not  readily  to  be 
procured  in  the  market.  Every  year,  however,  as 
Toronto  increases  in  population  and  importance, 
will  diminish  these  minor  inconveniences. 

The  want  of  good  servants  is  a  more  serious  evil. 
I  could  amuse  you  with  an  account  of  the  petty  mi- 
series we  have  been  enduring  from  this  cause,  the 
strange  characters  who  come  to  offer  themselves,  and 
the  wages  required.  Almost  all  the  servants  are  of 
the  lower  class  of  Irish  emigrants,  in  general  honest, 
warm-hearted,  and  willing ;  but  never  having  seen 
any  thing  but  want,  dirt,  and  reckless  misery  at 
home,  they  are  not  the  most  eligible  persons  to  trust 
with  the  cleanliness  and  comfort  of  one's  household. 
Yet  we  make  as  many  complaints,  and  express  as 
much  surprise  at  their  deficiencies,  as  though  it  were 
possible  it  could  be  otherwise.     We  give  to  our  man- 


it? 


TORONTO. 


189 


as 


servant  eight  dollars  a  month,  to  the  ^ook  six  dollars, 
and  to  the  housemaid  four ;  but  these  are  lower  wa- 
ges than  are  usual  for  good  and  experienced  ser- 
vants, who  might  indeed  command  almost  any  wages 
here,  where  all  labor  is  high  priced. 

A  carriage  of  some  kind  is  here  one  of  the  neces- 
saries of  life,  but  a  light  English  built  carriage  would 
be  quite  unfit  for  the  country—absolutely  useless. 
There  is,  however,  an  excellent  coach  maker  here, 
who  has  turned  out  some  very  pretty  equipages — 
both  sleighs  and  barouches — of  the  build  which  is 
calculated  for  the  roads  in  the  neighborhood. 

There  are  other  good  shops  in  the  town,  and  one, 
that  of  the  apothecary,  worthy  of  Regent-street  in  its 
appearance.  The  importations  of  china,  glass,  hard- 
ware, and  cicthing,  arrive  from  England  in  the  spring 
and  autumn,  the  seasons  for  making  our  purchases. 
All  these  articles  are  much  dearer  than  in  England, 
and  there  is  little  choice  as  to  taste  or  fashion.  Two 
years  ago  we  bought  our  books  at  the  same  shop 
where  we  bought  our  shoes,  our  spades,  our  sugar, 
and  salt  pork ;  now  we  have  two  good  booksellers' 
shops,  and  at  ono  of  these  a  circulating  library  of  two 
or  three  hundred  volumes  of  common  novels.  As 
soon  as  there  is  a  demand  for  something  better, 
there  will  be  a  supply  of  course  ;  but,  as  I  said  be- 
fore, we  must  have  lime.  Archdeacon  Strabun  and 
Chief  Justice  Robinson  have  very  pretty  libraries, 
but  in  general  it  is  about  two  years  before  a  new 
v'ork  of  any  importance  finds  its  way  here ;  the 
i\merican  reprints  of  the  English  reviews  and  maga- 
zines, and  the  Albion  newspaper,  seem  to  supply 
amply  our  literary  wants. 


\ti. 


M 


ifi 


190 


WINTBR    STUDIES. 


I'    ft 


►•H 


Apropos  to  newspapers — my  table  is  covered 
with  them.  In  the  absence  or  scarcity  of  books, 
they  are  the  principal  medium  of  knowledge  and 
communication  in  Upper  Canada.  There  is  no 
stamp-act  here— no  duty  on  paper:  and  I  have 
sometimes  thought  that  the  great  number  of  local 
newspapers  which  do  not  circulate  beyond  their  own 
little  town  or  district,  must,  from  the  vulgar,  narrow 
tone  of  many  of  them,  do  mischief;  but  on  the 
whole,  perhaps,  they  do  more  good.  Paragraphs 
printed  from  English  or  American  papers,  on  sub- 
jects of  general  interest,  the  summary  of  political 
events,  extracts  from  books  or  magazines,  are  copied 
from  one  paper  into  another,  till  they  have  travelled 
round  the  country.  Tf.  ia  true  that  a  great  deal  of 
base,  vulgar,  inflammatory  party  feeling  is  also  cir- 
culated by  the  same  means ;  but,  on  the  whole,  1 
should  not  like  to  see  the  number  or  circulation  of 
the  district  papers  checked.  There  are  about  forty 
published  in  Upper  Canada;  of  these,  three  are  re- 
ligious, viz.  the  "  Christian  Guai'dian,"  "  The  Wes- 
leyan  Advocate,"  and  "  The  Church  ;"  a  paper  in 
the  German  language  is  published  at  Berlin,  in  the 
Gore  district,  for  the  use  of  the  German  sfcttlcrs  ; 
**  The  Correspondent  and  Advocate"  is  the  leading 
radical,  "  The  Toronto  Patriot,"  the  leading  Con- 
servative paper.  The  newspapers  of  Lower  Cana- 
da and  the  United  States  are  circulated  in  great 
numbers ;  and  as  they  pay  postage,  it  is  no  inconsi- 
derable item  in  the  revenue  of  the  post-oflice.  In 
some  of  these  provincial  papers  I  have  seen  articles 
written  with    considerable    talent ;    amongst   other 


!    *!; 


I  '^H 


X  -K 


v 


NEWSPAFEnS. 


191 


things,  1  have  remarked  a  series  of  letters  signed 
Evans,  addressed  to  the  Canadians  on  the  subject  of 
an  education  fitted  for  an  agricultural  people,  and 
written  with  infinite  good  sense  and  kindly  feeling  j 
these  have  been  copied  from  one  paper  into  another, 
and  circulated  widely ;  no  doubt  they  will  do  good. 
Last  year  the  number  of  newspapers  circulated 
through  the  post-ofHce,  and  paying  postage,  was 


Provincial  papers 

United  States  and  foreign  papers 


178,005 
119,502 


Add  100,000  papers  stamped  or  free,  here  are 
427,567  papers  circulated  yearly  among  a  popula- 
tion of  370,000,  of  whom,  perhaps,  one  in  fifty  can 
read  ; — this  is  pretty  well.  The  gross  receipts  of 
the  post-office  are  21,000/.  a  year.  It  is  rather  af- 
fecting to  see  the  long  lists  of  unclaimed  letters  ly- 
ing at  the  post-offiee,  and  read  the  advertisements  in 
the  Canada  and  American  journals  ior  husbands, 
relatives,  friends,  lost  or  strayed. 

There  is  a  commercial  news-room  in  the  city  of 
Toronto,  and  this  is  absobitely  the  only  place  of 
assembly  or  amusement,  except  the  taverns  !;»;!  low 
drinking-houses.  An  attempt  has  been  ma'Ie  to 
found  a  mechanics'  institute  and  a  literary  club ; 
but  as  yet  they  create  little  interest,  and  are  very 
ill  supported. 

If  the  sympathy  for  literature  and  science  be  small, 
that  for  music  is  less.  Owing  to  the  exertions  of  an 
intelligent  musician  here,  some  voices  have  been  so 
far  drilled  that  the  psalms  and  anthems  at  church 
are  very  tolerably  performed ;  but  this  gentleman 


!  Jl 


u 


1 


I 

i 

4 


m 


192 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


f    fl 


J      ;!' 


receives  so  little  general  encouragement,  that  he  is 
at  this  moment  preparing  to  go  over  to  the  United 
States.  The  archdeacon  is  collecting  subscriptions 
to  pay  for  an  organ  which  is  to  cost  a  thousand 
pounds ;  if  the  money  were  expended  in  aid  of  a 
singing-school,  it  would  do  more  good. 

The  interior  of  the  episcopal  church  here  is  ra- 
ther elegant,  with  the  exception  of  a  huge  window 
of  painted  glass  which  cost  500/.,  and  is  in  a  vile, 
tawdry  taste. 

Besides  the  episcopal  church,  the  Presbyterians, 
Methodists,  Roman  Catholics,  and  Baptists  have 
each  a  place  of  worahip.  There  is  also  an  African 
church  for  the  negroes. 

The  hospital,  a  large  brick  building,  is  yet  too 
small  for  the  increasing  size  of  the  city.  The  pub- 
lic grammar-school,  called  the  "  Upper  Canada  Col- 
lege," forms  a  cluster  of  ugly  brick  buildings  ;  and 
although  the  system  of  education  there  appears  nar- 
row and  defective,  yet  it  is  a  beginning,  and  certain- 
ly productive  of  good. 

The  physician  I  have  mentioned  to  you,  Dr.  Rces, 
entertains  the  idea  of  founding  a  house  of  reception 
for  destitute  female  emigrants  on  their  arrival  in 
Canada — a  house,  where,  without  depending  on 
charity,  they  may  be  boarded  and  lodged  at  the 
smallest  possible  cost,  and  respectably  protected  till 
they  can  procure  employment.  You  may  easily 
imagine  that  I  take  a  deep  interest  in  this  design. 

There  you  have  the  result  of  a  walk  I  took  this 
morning  up  and  down  our  city  with  a  very  intelligent 
guide. 


^ 


if 


TORONTO. 


193 


t  he  is 
LTnited 
iptions 
ousand 
id  of  a 

e  is  ra- 

vindow 

a  vile, 

terians, 
s  liave 
African 

yet  too 
tie  pub- 
da  Coi- 
rs ;  and 
lars  nar- 
certain- 

r.  Rces, 
jception 
rrival  in 
ding  on 
I  at  the 
gcted  till 
y  easily 
lesign. 
ook  this 
itelligent 


■* 


B 


I  am  afr£iid  these  trifling  facts  will  not  much  in>- 
terest  you.  For  me,  no  facts,  merely  as  facts,  aie 
in  the  slightest  degree  interesting,  except  as  they 
lead  to  some  truth.  I  must  combine  them,  and  in 
ihe  combination  seek  or  find  a  result,  before  such 
facts  excite  either  my  curiosity  or  attention. 


April  15. 
The  ice  in  the  bay  of  Toronto  has  been,  during 
the  winter  months,  from  four  to  five  feet  in  thick- 
ness :  within  the  last  few  days  it  has  been  cracking 
in  every  direction  with  strange  noises,  and  last  night, 
during  a  tremendous  gale  from  the  east,  it  was  rerit^ 
and  loosened,  and  driven  at  once  out  of  the  bay. 
*'  It  moveth  altogether,  if  it  move  at  all."  The  last 
time  1  drove  across  the  bay,  the  ice  beneath  me  ap. 
peared  as  fixed  and  firm  as  the  foundations  of  the 
earth,  and  within  twelve  hours  it  has  disappeared. 


To-day  the  first  steam-boat  of  the  season  entered 
our  harbor.  They  called  me  to  the  window  to  see 
it,  as,  with  flags  and  streamers  flying,  and  amid  the 
cheers  of  the  people,  it  swept  majestically  into  the 
bay.  I  sympathized  with  the  general  rejoicing,  for 
1  can  fully  understand  all  the  animation  and  bustle 
which  the  opening  of  the  navigation  will  bring  to 
our  torpid  capital. 


In    former    times,   when    people    travelled   into 
strange  countries,  they  travelled  dc  bonne  Jbi,  really 

17 


i3 

VOL.  I. 


w^ 


i'i 


m 


Mi 


194 


WINTER   STUDIES. 


to  see  and  learn  what  was  new  to  them.  Now, 
when  a  traveller  goes  to  a  foreign  country,  it  is 
always  with  a  set  of  preconceived  notions  concern- 
ing it,  to  which  he  fits  all  he  sees,  and  refers  all  he 
hears ;  and  this,  I  suppose,  is  the  reason  that  the  old 
travellers  are  still  safe  guides ;  while  modern  tra- 
vellers may  be  pleasant  reading,  but  are  withal  the 
most  unsafe  guides  any  one  can  have. 


t  am  inclined  to  distrust  the  judgment  of  those 
persons  whom  I  see  occupied  by  one  subject,  one 
idea,  one  object,  and  referring  all  things  to  that,  till 
it  assumes  by  degrees  an  undue  magnitude  and  im- 
portance, and  prevents  them  from  feeling  the  true 
relative  proportion  and  value  of  other  objects  :  yet 
thus  it  is,  perhaps,  that  single  truths  ai'e  worked  out 
and  perfected.  Yet,  again,  I  doubt  whether  there  he 
separate  and  single  truths — whether  it  be  possible 
for  one  to  arrive  at  tJic  truth  by  any  narrow  path ; — 
or  is  truth,  like  heaven,  "a  palace  with  many  doors," 
to  which  we  arrive  by  many  paths,  each  thinking 
his  own  the  right  one ;  and  it  is  not  till  we  have 
arrived  within  the  sanctuary  that  we  perceive  we 
are  in  a  central  point  to  which  converge  a  thousand 
various  paths  from  every  point  of  the  compass — 
every  region  of  thought  ? 

In  the  Pitti  Palace  at  Florence  there  is  a  statue, 
atandinoj  alone  in  its  naked  beautv,  in  the  centre  of  a 
many-sided  saloon,  panelled  with  mirrors,  in  which 
it  is  reflected  at  once  in  every  different  aspect,  and 
in  each,  though  differently,  yet  tnihj,  as  long  as  the 


•• 


DETACHED    THOUGHTS. 


195 


Now, 
•y,  it  13 
oncern- 
s  all  he 
the  old 
jrn  tra- 
thal  the 


f  those 
3ct,  one 
that,  till 
and  im- 
the  true 
Its :  yet 
ked  out 
there  he 
possible 
path  ; — 
'  doors," 
:hinking 
ve  have 
eive  we 
liousand 
npass — 

1  statue, 
litre  of  a 
n  which 
eel,  and. 
^  as  the 


mirror  be  clear  and  unwarped — and  such  ia  truth. 
We  all  look  towards  it,  but  each  mind  beholds  it 
under  a  different  angle  of  incidence ;  and  unless  we 
were  so  freed  from  all  earthly  bonds  as  to  behold  in 
one  and  the  same  moment  the  statue  itself,  in  its 
pure  unvarying  oneness,  and  all  its  multiplied  and 
ever-varying  reflections  imaged  around,  how  shall 
we  presume  to  settle  which  of  these  is  the  false,  and 
which  the  true  ? 

To  reason  from  analogy  is  often  dangerous,  but 
to  illustrate  by  a  fanciful  analogy  is  sometimes  a 
means  by  which  we  light  an  idea,  as  it  were,  into 
the  understanding  of  another. 


April  24. 

The  King  of  Prussia,  after  seeing  Othello,  for- 
bade Desdemona  to  be  murdered  for  the  future,  and 
the  catastrophe  was  altered  accordingly — "  by  his 
majesty's  command."  This  good-natured  monarch, 
whose  ideas  of  art  are  quite  singular,  also  insisted 
that  in  the  opera  of  Undine,  Huldibrand  should  not 
die  as  in  the  tale,  but  become  a  water-spirit,  and 
••  all  end  happily  ;**  but  I  would  not  advise  you  to 
laugh  at  this,  as  long  as  we  endure  the  new  catas- 
trophes tacked  to  Shakspeare. 

It  was  Hoffmann,  so  celebrated  for  his  tales  of 
diablerie,  and  in  Germany  not  less  celebrated  as  a 
musician,  who  composed  the  opera  of  Undine.  The 
music,  as  I  have  been  assured,  was  delicious,  and 
received  at  Berlin  with  rapturous  approval.  After 
the  first  few  representations,  the  opera-house  was 
burnt  down,  and  with  it  the  score  of  the  Undine 


h 


m 


mum 


196 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


» 


t      .    'l^ 


f.-  1 


HI'.' 


!tii 


•«  11 


perished.  Hoffmann  had  accidentally  one  pariie  In 
his  desk,  but  in  the  excess  of  his  rage  and  despair 
he  threw  that  also  into  the  fire,  and  thus  not  a  note 
of  this  charming  opera  survives. 

Only  the  other  day  I  was  reading  Hoffmann's 
analysis  and  exposition  of  the  Don  Juan.  It  is  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  wildest,  and  yet  one  of  the  most 
beautiful,  pieces  of  criticism  I  ever  met  with — the 
criticism  of  an  inspired  poet  and  musician.  Me- 
thinks  that  in  this  opera  the  words  and  the  music 
are  as  body  and  soul ;  and  certainly  we  must  judge 
the  character  and  signification  of  the  whole  by  the 
music,  not  by  the  words.  Hoffmann  regards  Don 
Juan  as  a  kind  of  Faust,  and  insists  that  Donna 
Anna  was  in  love  with  him ;  and  the  music  given  to 
her  expresses  certainly  a  depth  of  passion  and  de- 
spair beyond  the  words,  and  something  different  from 
them.  The  text  speaks  the  conventional  woman, 
and  the  music  breathes  the  voice  of  nature  revealing 
the  struggle,  the  tempest  within. 

When  at  New- York  this  winter,  I  was  introduced 
to  a  fine  old  Italian,  with  long  and  flowing  white 
hair,  and  a  most  venerable  and  marked  physiogno- 
my;  it  was  Lorenzo  da  Porta,  the  man  who  had  first 
introduced  Mozart  to  the  Emperor  Joseph,  and  wh6 
wrote  for  him  the  text  of  the  Don  Juan,  the  Figaro, 
and  the  Cosi  fan  Tutti :  we  have  no  such  libretti  now ! 

The  German  text  of  the  Zauberfldte  was  by  Schi- 
chenada,  a  buffoon  comedian  and  singer  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Joseph  II. ;  he  was  himself  the  original 
Papageno.  Some  people  think  that  he  meant  to 
dramatize  in  this  opera  the  mysteries  of  Freema- 
sonry, and  others  are  anxious  to  find  in  it  some  pro- 


f-  ■ 

'■  f 

1 

i 

Ip 

r     <'' 

SCHICHENADA. 


197 


found  allegorical  meaning;  whereas  I  doubt  whether 
the  text  has  any  meaning  at  all,  while  .o  the  delici- 
ous music  W9  may  ally  a  thousand  meanings,  a  thou- 
sand  fairy-dreams  of  poetry.  Schichenada  was  pa- 
tronized by  Joseph,  and  much  attached  to  him ;  after 
the  emperor's  death,  he  went  mad,  and  spent  the 
rest  of  his  life  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  with  a  large 
sheet  thrown  all  over  him,  refusing  to  speak  to  his 
family.  When  any  one  visited  him,  he  would  lift 
the  sheet  from  his  head,  and  ask,  with  a  fixed  look, 
"  Did  you  know  Joseph  V*  If  the  answer  were 
*'  Yes,**  he  would,  perhaps,  condescend  to  exchange 
a  few  words  with  his  visitor — always  on  the  same 
subject,  his  emperor  and  patron ;  but  if  the  answer 
were  "  No,'*  he  immediately  drew  his  sheet  about 
him  like  a  shroud,  hid  his  face,  and  sank  again  into 
his  arm-chair  and  obstinate  silence :  and  thus  he  died. 


m 


April  29. 

This  day,  after  very  cold  weather  during  the  whole 
week,  the  air  became  filled  with  a  haze  like  smoke, 
the  wind  blew  suddenly  hot  as  from  the  mouth  of  a 
furnace,  and  for  a  few  hours  I  suffered  exceedingly 
from  languid  depression,  and  could  scarcely  breathe. 
It  was  worse  than  an  Italian  sirocco. 

I  cannot  learn  the  cause  of  this  phenomenon  :  the 
wind  blew  from  the  lake. 


m 


May  I. 
Exceedingly  cold, — a  severe  frost — a  keen,  bois- 
terous wind,  and  a  most  turbulent  lake.     Too  ill  to 

17* 


mi  i 


198 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


do  any  thing  but  read.  I  amused  myself  with  Fried- 
rich  ROckert's  poems,*  which  left  on  my  imagina- 
tion an  impression  like  that  which  the  perfume  of  a 
boquet  of  hot-house  flowers,  or  the  sparkling  of  a 
casket  of  jewels,  would  leave  on  my  senses.  As  an 
amatory  lyric  poet,  he  may  be  compared  to  Moore  ; 
•^there  is  the  same  sort  of  efflorescence  of  wit  and 
fancy,  the  same  felicity  of  expression,  the  same  gem- 
like polish,  and  brilliance,  and  epigrammatic  turn  in 
his  exquisite  little  lyrics.  1  suppose  there  could  not 
be  a  greater  contrast  than  between  his  songs  and 
those  of  Heine.  It  is  greater  than  the  difference 
between  Moore  and  Burns,  and  the  same  kind  of 
difference. 

Lenau.t  again,  is  altogether  distinct  j  and  how 
charming  he  is  !  Yet  gi'eat  as  is  his  fame  in  Ger- 
many, I  believe  it  has  not  reached  England.  He  is 
the  great  pastoral  poet  of  modern  Germany — not 
pastoral  in  the  old-fashioned  style,  for  he  trails  no 
shepherd's  crook,  and  pipes  no  song  "to  Amaryllis 
in  the  shade,"  nor  does  he  deal  in  Fauns  or  Dryads, 
and  such  '*  cattle."  He  is  the  priest  of  Nature,  her 
Druid,  and  the  expounder  of  her  divinest  oracles. 
It  is  not  the  poet  who  describes  or  comments  on  na- 
ture ; — it  is  Nature,  with  her  deep  mysterious  voice, 
commenting  on  the  passions  and  sorrows  of  humani- 
ty.    His  style  is  very  difficult,  but  very  expressive 

*  Friedrich  Riickert  is  professor  of  the  Oricnthl  languages  at 
Erlangen.  He  has  publifihed  three  volumes  of  poems,  parily 
original,  and  partly  translated  or  imitated  from  eastern  poets, 
and  enjoys  a  very  high  reputation  both  as  a  scholar  and  a  poet. 

t  Nicholaus  L'jnau  i?  a  noble  Plungarian,  a  Magyar  by  birth  : 
the  name  under  which  his  poetry  is  published  is  not,  I  believe , 
his  real  name. 


Fried' 
agina- 
e  of  a 
gof  a 
As  an 
loore ; 
irit  and 
e  gem- 
turn  in 
uld  not 
igs  and 
Ference 
kind  of 

)d  how 

in  Ger- 

He  is 

ly — not 
rails  no 
narvllis 
Dryads, 
ire,  her 
oracles. 
s  on  na- 
is  voice, 
humani- 
pressivG 

guagcs  at 
ns,  partly 
ern  poets, 

id  a  poet, 
by  birth 

\  believe , 


LENAU. 


199 


and  felicii  aa :  in  one  of  those  compound  words  to 
which  the  German  language  lends  itself — like  the 
Greek,  Lenau  will  place  a  picture  suddenly  before 
the  imagination,  like  a  whole  landscape  revealed  to 
sight  by  a  single  flash  of  lightning.  Some  of  his 
poems,  in  which  he  uses  the  commonest  stuff  of  our 
daily  existence  as  a  material  vehicle  for  the  loftiest 
and  deepest  thought  and  sentiments,  are  much  in 
the  manner  of  Wordsworth  One  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  these  is  "  Der  Postillion." 

Lenau  has  lately  written  a  dramatic  poem  on  the 
subject  of  "  Faust,"  the  scope  and  intention  of  which 
I  find  it  difficult  to  understand — more  difficult  than 
that  of  Goethe.  For  the  present  I  have  thrown  it 
aside  in  despair. 


The  genius  of  Franz  Grillparzer  has  always 
seemed  to  me  essentially  lyric,  rather  than  dramatic  : 
in  his  admirable  tragedies  the  chaiacter,  the  senti- 
ment, are  always  more  artistically  evolved  than  the 
situation  or  action. 

The  characters  of  Sappho  and  Medea,  in  his  two 
finest  dramas,*  are  splendid  creations.  "We  have 
not,  I  think,  in  the  drama  of  the  present  day,  any 
thing  conceived  with  equal  power,  and  at  the  same 
time  carried  out  in  every  part,  and  set  forth  with 

♦  The  "  Sappho"  appeared  after  the  "  Ahnfrau,"  to  which  it 
presents  a  remarkable  contrast  in  style  and  construction.  The 
"Gulden  Fleece, "in  three  parts,  appeared  in  1822.  Poth  these 
tragedies  have  been  represented  on  all  the  theatres  in  Germany ; 
and  Madame  Wolff  at  Berlin,  Madame  Heygendorf  at  Wei- 
mar, Madame  Schroederat  Munich  and  Vienna,  have  all  excelled 
as  Sappho  and  Medea. 


I'ln 


;-'^-'Kb*^ 


'■   1 


200 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


•1 


fvl  }\ 


such  glorious  poetical  coloring.  Lord  Byron's 
"  Sardanapalus"  would  give  perhaps  a  more  just 
idea  of  the  manner  in  which  Grillparzer  treats  a 
dramatic  subject,  than  any  thing  else  in  our  literature 
to  which  I  could  compare  him. 

Sappho  is  the  type  of  the  woman  of  genius.  She 
enters  crowned  with  the  Olympic  laurel,  surrounded 
by  the  shouts  of  gratulating  crowds,  and  shrinks 
within  herself  to  find  that  they  bring  her  incense, 
not  happiness — applause,  not  sympathy — fame,  not 
love.  She  would  fain  renew  her  youth,  the  golden 
dreams  of  her  morning  of  life,  before  she  had  sound- 
ed the  depths  of  grief  and  passion,  before  experience 
had  thrown  its  shadow  over  her  heart,  in  the  love 
of  the  youthful,  inexperienced,  joyous  Phaon  ;  and 
it  is  well  imagined  too,  that  while  we  are  filled  with 
deepest  admiration  and  compassion  for  Sappho,  be- 
trayed and  raging  like  a  Pythoness,  we  yet  have 
sympathy  for  the  boy  Phaon,  who  leaves  the  love  of 
his  magnificent  mistress — love  rather  bestowed  than 
yielded — for  that  of  the  fair,  gentle  slave  Melitta. 
His  first  love  is  the  woman  to  whom  he  does  ho- 
mage; his  second,  the  woman  to  whom  he  gives 
protection.  Nothing  can  be  more  natural ;  it  is  the 
common  course  of  things. 

Learned  and  unlearned  agree  in  admiring  Grill- 
parzer's  versification  of  Sappho's  celebrated  ode — 


!     Hi 


"  Golden-Thronende  Aphrodite 


I" 


—It  sounds  to  my  unlearned  ears  wonderfully  grand 
and  Greek,  and  musical  and  classical :  ^nd  when 
Schroeder  recites  these  lines  in  the  theatre,  you 


# 


GRILLPARZr.R. 


201 


: 


might  hear  your  own  heart  be.-'  in  the  breathless 
silence  around.* 

German  critics  consider  the  "  Medea"  less  per- 
fect than  the  "  Sappho"  in  point  of  style,  and,  consi- 
dered merely  as  a  work  of  art,  inferior.  Of  this  I 
cannot  so  well  judge,  but  I  shall  never  forget  read- 
ing it  for  the  first  time — I  think  of  it  as  an  era  in 
my  poetic  reminiscences.  It  is  the  only  conception 
of  the  character  in  which  we  understand  the  neces- 
sity for  Medea's  murder  of  her  children.  In  the 
other  tragedies  on  the  same  subject,  we  must  take 
it  for  granted ;  but  Grillparzer  conducts  ua  to  the 
appalling  catastrophe  through  such  a  linked  chain 
of  motives  and  feelings,  that  when  it  comes,  it  comes 
as  something  inevitable. 

Medea  is  the  type  of  the  v/oman  of  instinct 
and  passion.  Contrasted  with  the  elegant,  subdued 
Greek  females,  she  is  a  half  savage,  all  devotion  and 
obedience  one  moment,  a  tameless  tigress  in  the 
next ;  first  subdued  by  the  masculine  valour,  then 
revolted  by  the  moral  cos/ardice  of  Jason.  Grill- 
parzer has  wisely  kept  the  virago  and  the  sorceress, 
with  whom  we  hardly  sympathize,  out  of  sight  as 
much  as  possible ;  while  the  human  being,  humanly 
acted  upon  and  humanly  acting  and  feeling,  is  for 
ever  before  us.     There  is  a  dreadful  truth  and  na- 


*  The  translation  of  the  same  ode  by  Ambrose  Phillips, 
"  O  Venus !  beauty  of  the  skies, 
To  whom  a  thousand  temples  rise," 
is  well  known.    In  spite  of  the  commendation  bestowed  on  it 
by  Addison,  it  appears  very  trivial  and  atibcted,  compared  with 
that  of  Grillparzer. 


Ml 


I       ■! 


>-M 


llV 


8       V. 


It 


202 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


PfJ .  I 


ture  in  the  whole  portrait,  which  is  perfectly  finished 
throughout.  Placed  beside  the  Medea  of  Euripides, 
it  is  the  picturesque  compared  with  the  statuesque 
delineation. 

The  subject  of  the  *'  Medea"  has  a  strange  fasci- 
nation around  it,  like  that  of  the  terrible  agonized 
beauty  of  the  "  Medusa,"  on  which  we  7nust  gaze 
though  it  turn  us  to  stone.  It  has  been  treated  in 
every  por^sible  stylo,  in  I  know  not  how  many  trage- 
dies arid  operas,  ancic^nt  and  modern.  I  remember, 
at  Vienna,  a  represeniation  of  a  singular  kind  given 
by  Madame  Schroeder;  it  was  a  monologue  in  prose, 
with  musical  symphonies,  composed  by  George  Ben- 
da,  about  1755.  After  every  two  or  three  spoken 
sentences  came  a  strain  of  music,  which  the  actress 
accompanied  by  expressive  pantomime.  The  prose 
text  (by  Getter)  appeared  to  me  a  string  of  adjura- 
tions, exclamations,  and  imprecations,  without  any 
coloring  of  poetry;  and  the  music  interrupted  rather 
than  aided  the  flow  of  the  passion.  Still  it  was  a 
mo.'^t  striking  exhibition  of  Schroeder's  peculiar 
talent ;  her  fine  classical  attitudes  were  a  study  for 
an  artist,  and  there  were  bursts  of  pathos,  and  flashes 
of  inconceivable  majesty,  which  thrilled  me  The 
fierceness  was  better  expressed  than  the  tenderness 
of  the  woman,  and  the  adjuration  to  Hecate  recalled 
for  a  moment  Mrs.  Siddons's  voice  and  look  when 
she  read  the  witch-scene  in  "Macbeth;"  yet,  take 
her  altogether,  she  was  not  so  fine  as  Pasta  in  the 
same  character.  Schroeder's  Lady  Macbeth  I  re- 
.nember  thinking  insufferable. 


I 


LAKE   ONTARIO. 


203 


ished 
)ide3, 
Bsque 

fasci- 
)nized 
gaze 
ted  in 
traga- 
jrnber, 
given 
prose, 
;e  Ben- 
spoken 
actress 
3  prose 
adjura- 
)ut  any 
rathev 
was  a 
eculiar 
udy  for 
flashes 
The 
derness 
recalled 
)k  when 
ret,  take 
a  in  the 
th  I  re- 


May  19. 

After  some  days  of  rather  severe  indisposition 
from  ague  and  fever,  able  to  sit  up. 

Sat  at  the  window  drawing,  or  rather  not  draw- 
ing, but  with  a  pencil  in  my  hand.  This  beautiful 
Lake  Ontario  ! — my  lake — for  I  begin  to  be  in  love 
with  it,  and  look  on  it  as  mine! — it  changed  its  hues 
every  moment,  the  shades  of  purple  and  green  fleet- 
ing over  it,  now  dark,  now  lustrous,  now  pale — like 
a  dolphin  dying ;  or,  to  use  a  more  exact  though  less 
poetical  comparison,  dappletl,  and  varying  like  the 
back  of  a  mackerel,  with  every  now  and  then  a  streak 
of  silver  light  dividing  the  shades  of  green  :  magnifi- 
cent, tumultuous  clouds  came  rolling  round  the  ho- 
rizon ;  and  the  little  graceful  schooners,  falling  into 
every  beautiful  attitude,  and  catching  every  variety 
of  light  and  shade,  came  curtseying  into  the  bay: 
and  flights  of  wild  geese,  and  great  black  loons, 
were  skimming,  diving,  sporting  over  the  bosom  of 
the  lake ;  and  beautiful  little  unknown  birds,  in  gor- 
geous plumage  of  crimson  and  black,  were  fluttei'- 
ing  about  the  garden :  all  life,  and  light,  and  beauty 
were  abroad — the  resurrection  of  Nature  !  How 
beautiful  it  was !  how  dearly  welcome  to  iny  senses 
— to  my  heart — this  spring  which  comes  at  last — so 
long  wished  for,  so  long  waited  for  ! 


May  30. 
Last  niglit,  a  ball  at  the  government-house,  to 
which  people  came  from  a  distance  of  fifty — a  hun- 
dred— two  hundred  miles — which  is  nothing  to  sig- 
nify  here.  There  were  very  pretty  girls,  and  very 
nice  dancing ;  but  we  had  all  too  much  reason  to 


■  m 


204 


WtNtER  8tUlj»lbS. 


lament  the  loss  of  ti  *=>  band  of  the  G6th  regiment, 
^vhich  left  us  a  few  weeks  ago — to  my  sorrow. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  ^11  the  governors  sent  hero 
for  the  future  may  be  married  men,  and  bring  their 
wives  with  them,  for  the  presence  of  a  female  at  the 
head  of  our  little  provincial  court — particularly  if 
she  be  intelligent,  good-natured,  and  accomplished 
— is  a  greater  advantage  to  the  society  here,  and 
does  more  to  render  the  government  popular,  than 
you  can  well  imagine. 


^;.f;i 


M 


Hi     ^, 


Erindale. 

— A  very  pretty  place,  with  a  very  pretty  name. 
A  kind  invitation  led  me  hither,  to  seek  change  of 
air,  change  of  scene,  and  every  other  change  1  most 
needed. 

The  Britannia  steam-boat,  which  plies  daily  be- 
tween Toronto  and  Hamilton,  brought  us  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Credit  River  in  an  hour  and  a  half  By 
the  orders  of  Mr.  M  *  *  *,  a  spring  cart  or  wagon, 
the  usual  vehicle  of  the  country,  was  waiting  by  the 
inn,  on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  to  convey  me  through 
the  woods  to  his  house ;  and  the  master  of  the  inn,  a 
decent,  respectable  man,  drove  the  wagon.  He  had 
left  England  a  mere  child,  thirty  years  ago,  with  his 
father,  mother,  and  seven  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
eighteen  years  ago  had  come  to  Canada  from  the 
United  States,  at  the  suggestion  of  a  relation,  to  set- 
tle "  in  the  bush,"  the  common  term  for  uncleared 
land  ;  at  that  time  they  had  nothing,  as  he  said,  but 
"health  and  hands."  The  family,  now  reduced  to 
five,  are  all  doing  well.  He  has  himself  a  farm  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  aci*es,  his  own  property ;  his 


i 


0  '> 


THE   CREDIT. 


205 


metit, 

there 
their 
at  the 
irly  if 
dished 
e,  and 
r,  than 


ndale. 
'  name, 
ange  of 
1  most 

lily  be- 
to  the 
alf.   By 
wagon, 
;  by  the 
through 
le  inn,  a 
He  had 
with  his 
ei's,  and 
om  the 
1,  to  set- 
ncleared 
aid,  but 
hiced  to 
farm  of 
iity;  hia 


•r 

! 

■? 

i 


brother  as  much  more ;  his  sisters  are  well  settled. 
**  Any  man,"  said  he,  "  with  health  and  a  pair  of 
hands,  could  get  on  well  in  this  country,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  drink;  that  ruins  hundreds." 

They  are  forming  a  harbor  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river — widening  and  deepening  the  channel;  but, 
owing  to  the  want  of  means  and  money  during  the 
present  perplexities,  the  works  are  not  going  on. 
There  is  a  clean,  tidy  inn,  and  some  log  and  frame 
houses  ;  the  situation  is  low,  swampy,  and  I  should 
suppose  unhealtliy ;  but  they  assured  me,  that  though 
still  subject  to  ague  and  fe  'er  in  the  spring,  every 
year  diminished  this  inconvenience,  as  the  draining 
and  clearing  of  the  lands  around  was  proceeding 
rapidly. 

The  River  Credit  is  so  called,  because  in  ancient 
times  {i.  e.  forty  or  fifty  years  ago)  the  fur  traders 
met  the  Indians  on  its  banks,  and  delivered  to  them 
on  credit  the  goods  for  which,  the  following  year, 
they  received  the  value,  or  rather  ten  times  the  value, 
in  skins.  In  a  country  where  there  is  no  law  of 
debtor  or  creditor,  no  bonds,  stamps,  bills,  or  bailifTs, 
no  possibility  of  punishing,  or  even  catching  a  le-- 
fractory  or  fraudulent  debtor,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
every  possibility  of  being  tomahawked  by  said  debt* 
or,  this  might  seem  a  hazardous  arrangement;  yet  I 
have  been  assured  by  those  long  engaged  in  the 
trade,  both  in  the  upper  and  lower  province,  that  for 
an  Indian  to  break  his  engagements,  is  a  thing  un- 
heard of :  and  if,  by  any  personal  accident,  he  should 
be  prevented  from  bringing  in  the  stipulated  number 
of  beaver  skins,  his  relatives  and  friends  consider 

VOL.  I.  18 


UJI 


I  'pi 

S  i   l-i:  i  i 


206 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


i:3 


iv.mil  i 


I 


'h 


their  honor  implicated,  and  make  up  the  quantity  for 
him. 

The  fur  trade  has  long  ceased  upon  these  shores, 
once  the  scene  of  bloody  conflicts  between  the  Hu- 
rons  and  the  Missassaguas.  The  latter  were  at  length 
nearly  extirpated  ;  a  wretched,  degenerate  remnant 
of  the  tribe  still  continued  to  skulk  about  their  old 
haunts  and  the  burial-place  of  their  fathers,  which  is 
a  high  mound  on  the  west  bank  of  the  river,  and  close 
upon  the  lake.  These  were  collected  by  the  Metho- 
dist missionaries,  into  a  village  or  settlement,  about 
two  miles  farther  on,  where  an  attempt  has  been  made 
to  civilize  and  convert  them.  The  government  have 
expended  a  large  sum  in  aid  of  this  charitable  pur- 
pose, and  about  fifty  log-huts  have  been  constructed 
for  the  Indians,  each  hut  being  divided  by  a  parti- 
tion, and  capable  of  lodging  two  or  more  families. 
There  is  also  a  chapel  and  a  school-house.  Peter 
Jones,  otherwise  Kahkevvaquonaby,  a  half-cast  In- 
dian, is  the  second  chief  and  religious  teacher;  he 
was  in  England  a  few  years  ago  to  raise  contribu- 
tions for  his  people,  and  married  a  young  entliusias- 
tic  English  woman  with  a  small  property  She  has 
recently  quitted  the  village  to  return  to  Europe, 
There  is,  besides,  a  regular  Methodist  preacher  es- 
tablished here,  who  cannot  speak  one  word  of  the 
language  of  the  natives,  nor  hold  any  communion 
with  them,  except  through  an  interpreter.  He  com- 
plained of  the  mortality  among  the  children,  and  the 
yearly  diminution  of  numbers  in  the  settlement. 
The  greater  number  of  those  who  remain  are  half- 
breed8,and  of  these,  some  of  the  young  women  and  chil* 


i:        i 

■        f 

f    J: 


'1 


It 


ity  for 

ihores, 
le  Hu- 
length 
smnant 
eir  old 
hich  is 
d  close 
Metho- 
,  about 
11  made 
nt  have 
ale  pur- 
itructed 
a  parti- 
arailies. 

Peter 
cast  In- 
her;  be 
ontribu- 
tbusias- 
Sbe  has 
Europe, 
cher  es- 
1  of  the 
imunion 

ie  com- 

and  the 
tlement. 
are  half- 

and  diil* 


THE  CREDIT. 


207 


dren  are  really  splendid  creatures;  but  the  general  ap- 
pearance of  the  pkiceand  people  struck  nie  as  gloomy. 
Tho  Indians,  whom  I  saw  wandering  and  lounging 
about,  and  the  squaws   wrapped   in   dirty  blankets^ 
with  their  long  black  hair  falling  over  their  faces  and 
eyes,   filled  me  with  compassion.     When  the  tribe 
were  first  gathered  together,   they  amounted  to  se- 
Ten  hundred  men,  women,  and  children  ;  there  are 
now  about  two  hundred  and  twenty.     The  missiona- 
ry and  his  wife  looked  dejected  ;  he  t9ld  me  that  the 
Conference  never  allowed  them  (the  missionaries)  to 
remain  with  any  congregation  long  enough  to  know 
the  people,  or  take  a  personal  interest  in  their  wel. 
fare.     In  general  the  term  of  their  residence  in  any 
settlement  or  district  was  from  two  to  three  years, 
and  they  were  then  exchanged  for  another.     Among 
the  inhabitants  a  few  have  cultivated  the  portion  of 
land  allotted  to  them,  and  live  in  comparative  com- 
fort ;  three  or  four  women  (half  cast)  are  favorably 
distinguished  by  the  cleanliness  of  their  houses,  and 
general  good  conduct ;  and  some  of  the  children  are 
remarkably  intelligent,  and  can  read  both  their  own 
language  and  English  ;  but  these  are  exceptions,  and 
dirt,  indolence,  and  drunkenness,  are  but  too  gene- 
ral.    Consumption  is  the  prevalent  disease,  and  car- 
ries off  numbers*  of  th^se  wretched  people. 

After  passing  the  Indian  village,  we  plunged  again 
into  the  depth  of  the  green  forests,  through  a  road  or 
path  which  presented  every  now  and  then  ruts  and 
abysses  of  mud,  into  which  we  sank  nearly  up  to  the 
axlstree,  and  I  began  to  appreciate  feelingly  the  fit- 

♦  The  notes  thrown  together  here  are  the  result  of  three  differ- 
tint  visits  to  the  Credit,  and  information  otherwise  obtained. 


I.   f 


t  .  I 


I  '■ 


n 


^u 


n  •-' 


A- 


p  'l' 


208 


WlNTEn    STUDIES. 


^i,! 


ness  of  a  Canadian  wagon.  On  each  side  of  this  fo- 
rest path  the  eye  sought;.in  vain  to  penetrate  the  laby- 
rinth of  foliage,  and  intermingled  flowers  of  every 
dye,  where  life  in  myriad  forms  was  creeping,  hum- 
ming^ rustling  in  the  air  or  on  the  earth,  on  which 
the  morning  dew  still  glittered  under  the  thick 
shades. 

From  these  woods  we  emerged,  after  five  or  six 
miles  of  travelling,  and  arrived  at  Springfield,  a 
little  village  we  had  passed  through  in  the  depth  of 
winter — Ijow  diflerent  its  appearance  now  ! — and 
diverging  from  the  road,  a  beautifr.l'path  along  the 
high  banks  above  the  rirer  Credit,  brought  us  to 
Erindale,  for  so  Mr.  M  ♦  *  *,  in  fond  recollection 
of  his  native  country,  has  named  his  romantic  resi- 
deace. 

Mr.  M  *  *  *  is  the  clergyman  and  magistrate  of 
the  district,  beside  being  the  principal  farmer  and 
land  proprietor.  His  wife,  sprung  from  a  noble  and 
historical  race,  blended  much  sweetness  and  frank- 
heartedness,  with  more  of  courtesy  and  manner 
than  I  expected  to  find.  My  reception  was  most 
cordial,  though  the  whole  bouse  was  in  unusual  bus- 
tle, for  it  was  the  4th  of  June,  parade  day,  when  the 
district  militia  were  to  be  turned  out ;  and  two  of 
the  young  men  of  the  family  were  buckling  on 
Bwords  and  accoutrements,  and  furbishing  up  hel- 
mets, while  the  sister  was  officiating  with  a  sister's 
pride  at  this  military  toilette,  tying  on  sashes  and  ar- 
ranging epaulettes  ;  and  certainly,  when  they  ap- 
peared— one  in  the  pretty  green  costume  of  a  rifle- 
man, the  other  all  covered  with  embroidery  as  a  cap- 
tain of  lancers — I  thought  I  had  seldom   seen  two 


'?!       H 


ft  I 


ElilNDALE. 


209 


finer  looking  mon.     After  taking  cofTee  and  refresh- 
ments, we  drove  down  lo  ilio  ^ccne  of  action. 

On  a  rising  ground  above  the  river  which  ran 
gurglirig  and  spaikllng  lhri)nr;l«  llie  green  ravine 
beneath,  the  motley  troops,  about  three  or  four  huii' 
tired  men,  were  marshalled — no,  not  marshalled, 
but  sca'tered  in  a  far  more  pictureaqiio  fashion 
hither  and  thither  :  a  few  \o\r  houses  and  a  saw-mill 
on  the  river-l)ard«,  and  a  little  wooden  church 
crowning  the  opposite  height,  foimed  the  chief  fea- 
tures of  the  scene.  The  boundless  forest  spread  all 
around  us.  A  few  men,  well  mounted,  ?md  dressed 
as  lancers,  in  uniforms  which  were,  however,  any 
thing  but  uniform,  flourished  backwaids  on  the 
green  sward,  to  the  manifest  peril  of  the  spectators  ; 
themselves  and  their  horses,  equally  wild,  tlisorderly, 
spirited,  undisciplined  :  but  this  was  perfection 
compared  with  the  infantry.  Here  there  was  no 
uniformity  attempted  of  dress,  of  appearance,  of 
movement ;  a  few  had  coats,  others  jackets  ;  a  great- 
er number  had  neither  coats  nor  jackets,  but  appear- 
ed in  their  shirt  sleeves,  white  or  checked,  or  clean 
or  dirty,  in  edifying  variety!  Some  wore  hata, 
others  caps,  others  their  own  shaggy  heads  of  hair. 
Some  had  firelocks  ;  some  had  old  swords,  suspended 
in  belts,  or  stuck  in  their  waistbands  ,  but  the  great- 
er number  shouldered  sticks  or  umbrellas.  Mrs. 
M  *  *  *  told  us  that  on  a  former  parade  day  she  had 
heard  the  word  of  command  given  thus — "Gentle- 
men with  the  umbrellas,  take  ground  to  Jhc  rightl 
Gentlemen  with  the  walking-sticks,  take  ground  to 
the  left '"     Now  they  ran  after  each  other,  elbowed 

18* 


.iiv: 


i  I,  \.^ 


t  '4  '-■:  ' 


r?W^ 


210 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


ii    I 


'  .  t  ( 


i>. 


r  '1 


I: 


VH 


M;! 


and  kicked  each  other,  stiaddlod,  stooped,  chat- 
tered ;  and  if  the  commanding  officer  turned  his 
back  for  a  moment,  very  coolly  sat  down  on  the 
bank  to  rest.  Not  to  laiigli  was  impossible,  and  de- 
fied all  power  of  face.  Charles  M.  made  himself 
hoarse  with  shouting  out  orders  v/hich  no  one  obey- 
ed, except  perhaps,  two  or  three  men  in  the  front; 
and  James,  with  his  horsemen,  flmirished  their  lances, 
and  galloped,  and  capered,  and  curveted  to  admira- 
tion. James  is  the  popular  storekeeper  and  post- 
master of  the  village,  and  when,  after  the  show,  we 
went  intCK  his  warehouse  to  rest,  I  was  not  a  little 
amused  to  see  our  captain  of  lancers  come  in,  and, 
taking  off  his  plumed  helmet,  jump  over  the  counter, 
to  serve  one  customer  to  a  *'  pennyworth  of  tobac- 
co," and  another  to  a  "  yard  of  check."  Willy,  the 
younger  brother,  a  fine  young  man,  who  had  been 
our  cavalier  on  the  field,  assisted;  and  half  in 
jest,  half  in  earnest,  I  gravely  presented  myself  as 
the  purchaser  of  something  or  other,  which  Willy 
served  out  with  a  laughing  gaycty  and  unembarrassed 
simplicity  quite  delightful.  We  returned  to  sit  down 
to  a  plain,  plenteous,  and  'jxcellcnt  dinner;  every 
thing  on  the  table,  the  wine  excepted,  was  ihe  pro- 
duce of  their  own  farm.  Our  wine,  water,  and  butler 
were  iced,  and  every  thing  was  the  best  of  its  kind. 

The  parade  day  ended  in  a  drunken  bout  and  a 
riot,  in  which,  as  I  was  afterwards  informed,  the  co- 
lonel had  been  knocked  dov/n,  and  one  or  two  se- 
rious and  even  fatal  accidents  had  occuried ;  but  it 
was  all  taken  so  very  lightly,  so  very  much  as  a 
thing  of  course,  in  this  half  civilized  community, 
that  I  soon  ceased  to  think  about  the  matter. 


i  i' 


!l        I 


erindalb. 


211 


The  next  morning  I  looked  out  from  my  window 
upon  a  scene  of  wild  yet  tranquil  loveliness.  The 
house  is  built  on  the  ed.ge  of  a  steep  bank,  (what 
in  Scotland  they  term  a  scaur,)  perhaps  a  hundred 
feet  high,  and  descending  precipitously  to  the  rapid 
river.*  The  banks  on  either  side  were  clothed  with 
overhanging  woods  of  the  sumach,  maple,  tamarask, 
birch,  in  all  the  rich  yet  delicate  array  of  the  fresh 
opening  yeai^  Beyond,  as  usual,  lay  the  dark  pine- 
forest  ;  and  near  to  the  house  tljere  were  several 
groups  of  lofty  pines,  the  original  giant-brood  of  the 
soil  ;  beyond  these  again  lay  the  "  clearitig."  The 
sky  was  without  a  cloud,  and  the  heat  intense.  I 
found  breakfast  laid  in  the  verandah  :  excellent  tea 
and  coffee,  rich  cream,  delicious  hot  cakes,  row-laid 
eggs — a  banquet  for  a  king  !  The  young  men  and 
their  laborers  had  been  out  since  sunrise,  and  the 
younger  ladies  of  the  house  were  busied  in  domestic 
affairs ;  the  rest  of  us  sat  lounging  all  the  morning 
in  the  verandah  ;  and  in  the  intervals  of  sketching 
an:l  reading,  my  kind  host  and  hostess  gave  me  an 
account  of  their  emigration  to  this  country  ten  years 


ago. 


Mr.  M.  was  a  Protestant  clergyman  of  good 
family,  and  had  held  a  considerable  living  in  Ire- 
land ;  but  such  was  the  distuibed  state  of  the  coun- 
try in  which  he  resided,  that  he  was  not  only  unable 
to  collect  his  tithes,  but  for  several  years  neither  his 

*  In  this  river  the  young  sportsmen  of  the  family  had  speared 
two  hundred  salmon  in  a  single  night.  The  salmon-hunts  in 
Canada  arc  exactly  like  that  described  su  vividly  in  Guy  Man- 
nering.  The  fish  thus  caught  is  rr^ther  a  large  species  of  trout 
than  genuine  salmon.    The  sport  is  most  exciting. 


■;  i! 


'il 


I! 


ti 


mm 


Jtm 


I'f 


r# 


*■  -a'  ' 
■    %'■'-■■ 


'  f.-  ■ 


.i '      rt: 


ifililil!   i 


^'Ji. 


2J2 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


own  life  nor  that  of  any  of  his  family  was  safe.  They 
never  went  out  unarmed,  and  never  went  to  rest  at 
night  without  having  barricadoed  their  house  like  a 
fortress.  The  heahh  of  his  wife  began  to  fail  under 
this  anxiety,  and  at  length,  after  a  severe  struggle 
with  old  feelings  and  old  habits,  he  came  to  the  de- 
termination to  convert  his  Irish  property  into  ready 
money  and  emigrate  to  Canada,  with  four  fine  sons 
from  seven  to  seventeen  years  old,  and  one  little 
daughter.  Thus  you  see  that  Canada  has  become 
an  asylum,  not  only  for  those  who  cannot  pay  tithes, 
but  for  those  who  cannot  get  them. 

Soon  after  his  arrival,  he  purchased  eight  hundred 
acres  of  land  alono:  the  banks  of  the  Credit.  "Witli 
the  assistance  of  iiis  sons  and  a  few  laborers,  he  soon 
cleared  a  space  of  ground  for  a  house,  in  a  situation 
of  great  natural  beauty,  but  then  a  perfect  wilder- 
ness ;  and  with  no  other  aid  designed  and  built  it  in 
very  pretty  taste.  Being  thus  secure  of  lodging  and 
shelter,  they  proceeded  in  their  toilsome  work — toil- 
some, most  laborious,  he  allowed  it  to  be,  but  not 
unrewarded  ;  and  they  have  now  one  hundred  and 
fifty  acres  of  land  cleared  and  in  cultivation;  a  noble 
barn,  entirely  constructed  by  his  sons,  measuring 
sixty  feet  long  by  foity  in  width;  a  carpenter's  shop, 
a  turnir)g-lathe,  in  the  use  of  which  the  old  gentle- 
man and  one  of  his  sons  are  very  ingenious  and 
effective  ;  a  forge  ;  extensive  outhouses  ;  a  farm-yard 
well  stocked;  and  a  house  comfortably  furnished, 
much  of  the  ornamental  furniture  being  contrived, 
carved,  turned,  by  the  father  and  his  son;'.  These 
young  men,  who  had  received  in  Ireland  the  rudi- 


!,i    »' 


ERINDALE. 


213 


merits  of  a  classical  education,  had  all  a  mechanical 
genius,  and  here,  with  all  their  energies  awakened, 
and  ail  their  physical  and  mental  powers  in  full  oc- 
cupation, they  are  a  striking  example  of  what  may 
be  done  by  activity  and  perseverance;  they  are  their 
own  architects,  masons,  smiths,  carpenters,  farmers, 
gardeners ;  they  are,  moreover,  bold  and  keen  hun- 
ters, quick  in  resource,  intelligent,  cheerful,  united 
by  strong  affection,  and  doating  on  their  gentle  sis- 
ter, who  has  grown  up  among  these  four  tall,  manly 
brothers,  like  a  beautiful  azelia  under  the  towering 
and  sheltering  pines.  Then  I  should  add,  that  one 
of  the  young  men  knows  something  of  surgery,  can 
bleed  or  set  a  broken  limb  in  case  of  necessity  ; 
while  another  knows  as  much  of  lavv  as  enables  him 
to  draw  up  an  agreement,  and  settle  the  quarrels  and 
arrange  the  little  difficulties  of  their  poorer  neigh- 
bors, without  having  recourse  to  the  "  attorney." 

The  whole  family  appear  to  have  a  lively  feeling 
for  natural  beauty,  and  a  taste  for  natural  history ; 
they  know  the  habits  and  the  haunts  of  the  wild  ani- 
mals which  people  their  forest  domain  ;  they  have 
made  collections  of  minerals  and  insects,  and  have 
"traced  each  herb  and  flower  that  sips  the  silvery 
dew."  Not  only  the  stout  servant  girl,  (whom  I  met 
running  about  with  a  sucking-pig  in  her  arms,  look- 
ing for  its  mother.)  and  the  little  black  boy  Alick ; 
— ^but  the  animals  in  the  farm-yard,  the  old  favorite 
mare,  the  fowls  which  come  trooping  round  the  be« 
nignant  old  gentleman,  or  are  the  peculiar  pets  of 
the  ladies  of  the  family, — the  very  dogs  and  cats  ap- 
pear to  me,  each  and  all,  the  most  enviable  of  their 
species. 


•:!  t'4 


i| 


ji    ■[.'it 


1  i» 


i-' 


P 


214 


WINTER     STUDIES. 


'    If?       l> 


irtf  SI  I  III  1 1 


There  is  an  atmosphere  of  benevolence  and  cheer- 
fulness breathing  round,  which  penetrates  to  my  very 
heart.  I  know  not  when  I  have  felt  so  quietly — so 
entirely  happy — so  full  of  sympathy — so  light-heart- 
ed— so  inclined  to  shut  out  the  world,  and  its  cares 
and  vanities,  and  "  fleet  the  time  as  they  did  i'  the 
golden  age." 

In  the  evening  it  was  very  sultry,  the  sky  was 
magnificently  troubled,  and  the  clouds  came  rolling 
down,  mingling,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  with  the  pine 
tops.  We  walked  up  and  down  the  verandah,  list- 
ening to  the  soft  melancholy  cry  of  the  whip-poor- 
will,  and  watching  the  evolutions  of  some  beautiful 
green  snakes  of  a  perfectly  harmless  species,  which 
were  gliding  after  each  other  along  the  garden 
walks;  by  degrees  a  brooding  silence  and  thick 
darkness  fell  around  us  ;  then  the  storm  burst  forth 
in  all  its  might,  the  lightning  wrapped  the  v/hole 
horizon  round  in  sheets  of  flame,  the  thunder  rolled 
over  the  forest,  and  still  we  lingered— -lingered  till 
the  fury  and  tumult  of  the  elements  had  subsided, 
and  the  rain  began  to  fall  in  torrents  j  we  then  went 
into  the  house  and  had  some  music.  Charles  and 
Willy  had  good  voices,  and  much  natural  taste;  and 
we  sang  duets  and  trios  till  supper-time.  We  again 
assembled  round  the  cheerful  table,  where  there  was 
infinite  laugiiing — the  heart's  laugh — and  many  a 
jest  seasoned  with  true  Irish  gallantry  and  humor ; 
and  then  the  good  old  gentleman,  after  discussing 
his  sober  tumbler  of  whiskey-punch,  sent  us  all  with 
his  blessing  to  our  rest. 


f 


fl- 


EHINDALE. 


215 


Mr.  M.  told  me,  that  fov  the  first  seven  or  eight 
years  they  had  all  lived  and  worked  together  on  his 
farm  ;  but  latterly  he  had  reflected  that  though  the 
proceeds  of  the  farm  afforded  a  subsistence,  it  did 
not  furnish  the  means  of  independence  for  his  sons, 
so  as  to  enable  them  to  marry  and  settle  in  the 
world.  He  has  therefore  established  two  of  his 
sons  as  storekeepers,  the  one  in  Springfield,  tiie 
other  at  Streetsville,  both  within  a  short  distance 
of  his  own  residence,  and  they  have  already,  by 
their  intelligence,  activity,  and  popular  manners, 
succeeded  beyond  his  hopes. 

I  could  perceive  that  in  taking  this  step  there  had 
been  certain  prejudices  and  feelings  to  be  overcome, 
on  his  own  part  and  that  of  his  wife :  the  family 
pride  of  the  well-born  Irish  gentleman,  and  the  an- 
tipathy to  any  thing  like  trade,  once  cherished  by  a 
certain  class  in  the  old  country — these  wore  to  be 
conquered,  before  he  could  reconcile  himself  to  the 
idea  of  his  boys  serving  out  groceries  in  a  Canadian 
village  ;  but  they  u'crc  overcome.  Some  lingering 
of  the  "  old  Adam"  made  him  thin!;  it  necessaj-y  to 
excuse — to  account  for  this  state  of  tilings.  He  did 
not  know  with  what  entire  and  apjiroving  sympathy 
I  regarded,  not  the  foolish  national  i^iejudices  of  my 
country,  but  the  honest,  generous  spirit  and  good 
sense  through  which  he  had  conquered  tliem,  and 
provided  fi)r  the  future  independence  of  his  children. 

I  inquired  concerning  the  extent  of  his  parish, 
and  the  morals  and  condition  of  his  parishioners. 

He  said  that  on  two  sides  the  district  under  his 


1 


I 


I' 


i  11 


1^ 


!'■ 


■\  'H*'i 


n 


*'<ffl 


^     11 


iB^ 


216 


WINTER    STUDIES. 


,' .1 


IW 


mi 


charge  might  bu  considered  as  without  bounds,  for, 
in  fact,  there  was  no  parish  boundary  line  between 
him  and  the  North  Pole.     He  has  frequently  ridden 
from  sixteen  to  Miirty  miles  to  officiate  at  a  marriage 
or  a  funeral,  or  baptize  a  child,  or  preach  a  sermon, 
wherever  a  small   congregation  could  be  collected 
together ;  but  latterly  his  increasing  age  rendered 
such   exertion  dltRcult.      His  parivsh  church   is  in 
Spjingfield.      When   he   first   tool;    the   living,   to 
which  he   was  appointed  on  his  arrival  in  the  coun- 
try, the  salary — for  here  there  are  no  tithes — was 
two  hundred  a  year :  some  late  measure,  fathered 
by  Mr.  Hume,  had  reduced  it  to  one  hundred.     Ho 
spoke  of  this  without  bitterness  as  regarded  him- 
self, observing  that  ho  was  old,  and  had  other  means 
of  subsistence  ;  bit  he  considered  it  as  great  injus- 
tice both  to  himself  and  ro  his  successors — "  For," 
said  he,  "  it  is  clear  that  no  man  could  take  charge 
of  this  extensive  district  without  keeping  a  good  horse 
and  a  boy  to  rub  him  down.     Now,  in  this  country, 
where  wages  arc  high,  he  could  not  keep  a  horse 
and  a  servant,  and  wear  a  whole  coat,  for  less  than 
one  hundred  a  year.    No  man,  therefore,  who  had  not 
other  resources,  could  live  upon  this  sum ;  and  no 
man   who  had   other  resources,  and  had  received  u 
fitting  education,   would    be  likely   to   come  here, 
I    say  nothing  of   the    toil,  the  fatigue,  the    deep 
responsibility — these    belong    to    his  vocation,    in 
which,    though    a   man    must    labor,  he  need    not 
surely    starve : — yet    starve    he     must,  unless   ho 
takes    a  farm    or  a  store  in   addition  to  his  cleri" 


■3. 


ERINDALE. 


217 


cal  duties.  A  clergynian  in  such  circumstances 
could  hardly  command  the  respect  of  his  parishion- 
ers :  what  do  you  think,  madam  % 

"When  the  question  was  thus  put,  I  could  only 
think  the  same  :  it  seems  to  me  that  there  must  be 
something  wrong  in  the  whole  of  this  Canadian 
church  system,  from  beginning  to  end. 

With  regard  to  the  morals  of  the  population 
around  him,  he  spoke  of  two  things  as  especially 
lamentable,  the  prevalence  of  drunkenness,  and  the 
early  severing  of  parental  and  family  ties  ;  the  first, 
partly  owing  to  the  low  price  of  whiskey,  the  latter 
to  the  high  price  of  labor,  which  rendered  it  the  in- 
terest of  the  young  of  both  sexes  to  leave  their  home, 
and  look  out  and  provide  for  themselves  as  soon  as 
possible.  This  fact,  and  its  consequences,  struck 
him  the  more  painfully,  from  the  contrast  it  exhi- 
bited to  the  strong  family  affections,  and  respect  for 
parental  authority,  which  even  in  the  midst  of 
squalid,  reckless  misery  and  ruin,  he  had  been  ac- 
customed to  in  poor  Ireland.  The  general  morals 
of  the  women  he  considered  infinitely  supenor  to 
those  of  the  men  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  horrid 
example  and  temptation,  and  one  may  add,  provo- 
cation, round  them,  their  habits  were  generally  so- 
ber. He  knew  himself  but  two  females  abandoned 
to  habits  of  intoxication,  and  in  both  instances  the 
cause  had  been  the  same — an  unhappy  home  and  a 
brutal  husband. 

He  told  me  many  other  interesting  circumstances 
and  anecdotes,  but  being  of  a  personal  nature,  and 

VOL.  I.  19 


I 


I  \\ 


'i 


m  ]^.n 


»  — 


218 


WINTER  STUDIES. 


!     , 


hiu  permission  not  expressly  given,  I  do   not  not© 
them  down  here. 

On  the  whole,  I  shall  never  forget  the  few  days 
spent  with  this  excellent  family.  We  bade  fare- 
well, after  many  a  cordial  entreaty  on  their  part, 
many  a  promise  on  mine,  to  visit  them  again. 
Charles  M.  drove  me  over  to  the  Credit,  where  we 
met  the  steam-boat,  and  1  returned  to  'Toronto  with 
my  heart  full  of  kindly  feelings,  my  fancy  full  of 
delightful  images,  and  my  lap  full  of  flowers,  which 
Charles  had  gathered  for  me  along  the  margin  of 
the  forest :  flowers  such  as  we  transplant  and  nur- 
ture with  care  in  our  gardens  and  green-houses, 
most  dazzling  and  lovely  in  color,  sirange  and  new 
to  me  in  their  forms,  and  names,  and  uses;  unluckily 
I  am  no  botanist,  so  will  not  venture  to  particular- 
ize farther;  but  one  plant  struck  me  particularly, 
growing  every  \vhere  in  thousands  :  the  stalk  was 
about  two  feet  in  height,  and  at  the  top  were  two 
large  fan-like  leaves,  one  being  always  larger  than  the 
other;  from  between  the  two  sprung  a  single  flower, 
in  size  and  shape  somewhat  resembling  a  large  wild 
rose,  the  petal  white,  just  tinted  with  a  pale  plush. 
The  flower  is  succeeded  by  an  oval-shaped  fruit, 
"which  is  eaten,  and  makes  an  excellent  preserve. 
They  call  it  here  the  May-apple. 


\ .  \    '111     ■'''■■ 


SUMMER   RAMBLES 


IN  CANADA. 


J        .        .        ,       You  dwell  alone ; 
You  walk,  you  read,  you  speculate  alone ; 
Yet  doth  remembrance,  like  a  sovereign  prince^ 
For  you  a  stately  gallery  maintain 
Of  gay  or  tragic  pictures. 

Wordsworth. 


ifi 


i    t 


Vergniigen  sitzt  in  Blumen-kelchen,  und  kommt  alle  Jahr 
fiinmal  als  Geruch  her^us, 

Rahl. 


June  8. 
We  have  already  exchanged  "the  bloom  and 
ravishment  of  spring"  for  ''U  the  glowing  maturity 
of  summer;  we  gasp  with  heat,  we  long  for  ices, 
and  are  planning  Venetian  blinds;  and  three  weeks 
ago  there  was  snow  lying  beneaui  our  garden 
fences,  and  not  a  leaf  on  the  trees  !  In  England, 
when  Nature  wakes  up  from  her  long  winter,  it  igt 
like  a  sluggard  in  the  morning — she  opens  one  eye 
and  then  another,  and  shivers  and  draws  her  snow 
coverlet  over  her  face  again,  and  turns  round  to 
slumber  more  than  once,  before  she  emerges  at  last, 
lazily  and  slowly,  from  her  winter  chamber;  but 
here,  no  sooner  has  the  sun  peeped  through  her 


1^1 


i] 


■ 


220 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


mv' 


curtains,  than  up  she  springs,  like  a  huntress  for  the 
chase,  and   dons  her  kirtle   of  green,  and   walks 
abroad  in  full-blown  life  and  beauty.     I  am  basking 
in  her  smile  like  an  insect  or  a  bird  !     Apropos  to 
birds,  we  have,  alas  !  no  singing  birds  in  Canada. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  little  creature  of  the  ouzel  kind, 
which  haunts  my  garden,  and  has  a  low,  sweet  war- 
ble, to  which  I  listen  with  pleasure ;  but  we  have 
nothing  lUe  the  rich,  continuous  song  of  the  night- 
ings'e   or  lark,  or  even  the  linnet.     We  have  no 
music  in  our  groves  but  that  of  the  frogs,  which  set 
up  such  a  shrill  and  perpetual  chorus  every  eveninr, 
that  we  can  scarce  bear  each  other  speak.     The  r^ 
gular  manner  in  which  the  bass  and  treble  voices 
respond  to  each  other  is  pc  rfectly  ludicrous,  so  that 
in  the  midst  of  my  impatience  x  have  caught  myself 
laughing.     Then  we  have  every  possible  variety  of 
note,  from  the  piping  squeak  of  the  tree-frog,  to  the 
deep,  guttural  croak,  almost  roar,  of  tne  bull-frog. 

The  other  day,  while  walking  near  a  piece  of 
water,  I  was  startled  by  a  very  loud  deep  croak,  as 
like  the  croak  of  an  ordinary  frog,  as  the  bellow  of 
a  bull  is  like  the  bleat  of  a  calf;  and  looking  round, 
perceived  one  of  those  enormous  bull  frogs  of  the 
country  seated  with  great  dignity  on  the  end  of  a 
plank,  and  sta  ing  at  me.  The  monster  was  at  least 
a  foot  in  length,  with  a  pair  of  eyes  like  spectacles  ; 
on  shaking  my  parasol  at  him,  he  plunged  to  the 
bottom  in  a  moment.  They  are  quite  harmless,  I 
believe,  though  slander  accuses  them  of  attacking 
the  young  ducks  and  chickens. 

It  would  be  pleasant,  verily,  if,  after  all  my  ill- 


LAKE   ONTARIO. 


221 


humored  and  impertinent  tirades  against  Toronto,  T 
were  doomed  to  leave  it  with  regret ;  yet  such  is 
likely  to  be  the  case.     There  are  some  most  kind- 
hearted  and  agreeable  people  here,  who  look  v^.^v 
me  with  more  friendliness  than  at  first,  and  are  win- 
ning fast  upon  my  feelings,  if  not  on  my  sympathies. 
There  is  consitlerable  beauty  too  around  me — not 
that  I  am  going  to  give  you  doscriplions  of  scenery, 
which   are  always,  however  eloquent,  in  some  res- 
pect failures.     Worils  can  no  more  give  you  a  defi- 
nite iilea  oF  the  combination  of  forms   and  colors 
in  scenery,  than  so  many  musical  notes;  music  were, 
indeetl,  the  better  vehicle  of  the  two.     Felix  Men- 
delsohn,  when  a  ciiild,  used  to  say,  "  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  such  or  such  a  thing  was — I  cannot  speak 
it — 1  will  play  it  to  you  !"  and  run   to   his  piano  : 
sound  was  then  to  him  a  more  perfect  vehicle  than 
words ;  so,  if  I  were  a  musician,  I  would  plap  you 
Lake   Ontario,   rather   than  describe    it.     Ontario 
means  the  beaut i/ul,  and  the  word  is  worthy  of  its 
signification,  and  the  lake  is  worthy  of  its  beautiful 
name  ;  yet  I  can  hardly  tell  you  in  what  this  fasci- 
nation consists :  there  is  no  scenery  around  it,  no 
high  lands,  no  bold  shores,  no  picture  to  be  taken  in 
at  once  by  the  eye  ;  the  swamp  and  the  forest  en- 
closes it,  and  it  is  so  wide  and  so  vast  that  it  pre- 
sents all  the  monotony  without  the  majesty  of  the 
ocean.     Yet,  like  that  great  ocean,  when  I  lived  be- 
side it,  the  expanse  of  this  lake  has  become  to  me 
like  the  face  of  a  friend.     1  have  all  its  various  ex- 
pressions by  heart.      I  go  down  upon  the  green 
bank,  or  along  the   King's   Pier,  which  projects 

19* 


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222 


SUMMER   RAMBLER. 


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about  two  hundred  yards  into  the  bay.  I  sit  there- 
with my  book,  reading  sometimes,  butoftener  watch- 
ing untired  the  changeful  colors  as  they  flit  over 
the  bosom  of  the  lake.  Sometimes  a  thunder-squaU 
from  the  v\'cst  sends  the  little  sloops  and  schooners 
Bwcopir)Gf  and  scuddinix  into  the  harbor  for  slielter. 
Sometimes  the  sunset  coriveits  its  suiface  into  a  tea 
of  molten  gold,  and  sometimes  the  youiicr  moon 
waliss  trembling  in  a  path  of  silver;  sometimes  ii 
purple  haze  floats  over  its  bosom  like  a  veil  ;  some- 
times the  wind  blows  strong,  and  the  wild  turbid 
waves  come  rolling  in  like  breakers,  flinging  them- 
selves over  the  pier  in  wrath  and  foam,  ;r  dancing 
like  spirits  in  their  glee.  Nor  is  the  land  without 
some  charm.  About  four  miles  from  Toronto 
the  river  Humber  comes  down  between  high  wood- 
covered  banks,  and  rushes  into  the  lake:  a  more 
charming  situation  for  villas  and  garden-houses 
could  hardly  be  desired  than  the  vicinity  of  this 
beautiful  little  river,  and  such  no  doubt  we  shall 
(Bee  in  time. 

The  opposite  side  of  the  bay  is  formed  by  a  long 
iand-bank,  called  the  "  island,"  though,  in  fact,  no 
JBland,  but  a  very  narrow  promontory,  about  three 
ipiles  in  length,  and  forming  a  rampart  against  the 
main  waters  of  the  lake.  At  the  extremity  is  a 
light-house,  and  a  few  stunted  treed  and  underwood. 
This  marsh,  intersected  by  inlets  and  covered  with 
reeds,  is  the  haunt  of  thousands  of  wild  fowl,  and  of 
.the  terapin,  or  small  turtle  of  the  lake  ;  and  as  even- 
ing comes  on,  we  see  long  rows  of  red  lights  from 
Xhe  fishing-boats  gleaming  along  the  surface  of  the 


1  1 


kit 


SCENERV    OF    TORONTO. 


223 


water,  for  thus  tlioy  spear  the  lake  salmon,  the  bass, 
and  the  pickereen. 

The  only  road  on  which  it  is  possible  to  take  a 
drive  with  comfort  is  Young-street,  which  is  mac- 
adamised for  the  first  twelve  miles.  This  i  oad  leads 
from  'I'oronto  noriliwnrds  lo  Lake  Simcoe,  through 
a  well-settled  and  fertile  country.  Theie  are  some 
comjnodious,  and  even  elegiint  houses  in  this  neigh- 
borhooil.  Dund:>s-stie(?t,  leading  west  to  the  Lon- 
don district  an<i  T^ake  Huron,  is  a  very  rt)ugh  road 
for  a  c.'irriarje,  but  a  most  delitrhlful  ride.  On  this 
side  of  Toronto  you  are  immediately  in  the  pine 
forest,  which  extends  with  little  interruption  (except 
a  new  settlement  rising  here  and  there)  for  about 
fifty  miles  to  Hamilton,  wliich  is  the  next  impoilant 
town.  The  wooded  shores  of  the  lake  are  very 
beautiful,  and  abounding  in  game.  In  short  a  rea- 
sonable person  might  make  himself  very  iiuppy 
here,  if  it  were  not  for  some  few  things,  arnong 
which,  those  Egyptian  plagues,  the  flies  and  ;rogs 
in  summer,  and  i  .e  relentless  iron  winter,  are  not 
the  most  intolerable  :  add,  perhaps,  the  prevalence 
of  sickness  at  certain  seasons.  At  present  many 
families  are  ikying  off  to  Niagara,  for  two  or  three 
days  together,  for  change  of  air  ;  and  I  am  medita- 
ting a  flight  myself,  of  such  serious  extent,  that 
gome  of  my  friends  here  laugh  outright ;  others 
look  kindly  alarmed,  and  others  civilly  incredulous. 
Bad  roads,  bad  inns — or  rather  no  roads,  no 
inns  ;  wild  Indians,  and  white  men  more  savage 
far  than  they ;  dangers  and  difficulties  of  every 
kind  are   threatened   and   prognosticated,  enough 


i  ''*  1 


224 


SUftlMER    RAMKLES. 


to  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end.  To  undertake 
such  a  journey  alone  is  rash  perhaps — yet  alone 
it  must  be  achieved,  I  find,  or  not  at  all;  I  shall 
have  neither  companion  nor  man-servant,  r\orJcmmc 
lie  cJiamhrc,  nor  even  a  "  little  foot-page,"  to  give 
notice  of  my  fate,  should  I  be  swamped  in  a 
bog,  or  eaten  up  by  a  beai%  or  scalped,  or  disposed 
of  in  some  strange  woy  ;  but  shall  I  leave  this  fine 
country  wilbout  scein'j;  any  liiinc:  of  its  cjreat  cliarac- 
teristic  features? — uiul,  above  all,  of  its  aboriginal 
inhabitants?  Moral  courage  will  not  be  wanting, 
but  physical  strength  mny  fail,  and  obstacles,  which 
I  cannot  anticipite  or  overcome,  may  turn  me  back  ; 
yet  the  more  I  consider  my  project — wild  though  it 
be — the  more  I  feel  determined  to  peisist.  The 
French  have  a  proverb  which  does  honor  to  their 
gallantry, and  to  which,  from  experience,  1  am  inclin- 
ed to  give  full  credence — "  Ce  quefcmmc  vevt,  Dicu 
vent.**     We  shall  see. 


li 


XM    : 


June  10. 
Mr.  Hepburne  brought  me  yesterday  the  number 
of  the  Foreign  Review  for  February  last,  which  con- 
tains, among  other  things,  a  notice  of  Baron  Stern- 
berg's popular  and  eloquent  novels.  It  is  not  very 
well  done.  It  is  true,  as  far  as  it  goes  ;  but  it  gives 
no  sufficient  idea  of  the  general  character  of  his 
works,  some  of  which  display  the  wildest  and  most 
piciyful  fancy,  and  others  again,  pictures,  not  very 
attractive  ones,  of  every  day  social  life. 


STERNBERG  8    NOVELS. 


225 


Sternberg,  whom  I  knew  in  Germany,  is  a  young 
nobleman  of  Livonia,  handsome  in  person,  and  of 
quiet,  elegant  manners.  Yet  I  remember  that  in 
our  first  interview,  even  while  he  interested  and 
fixed  my  attention,  he  did  not  quite  please  me; 
there  was  in  his  conversation  something  cold,  guard- 
ed, not  flowing ;  and  in  the  expression  of  his  dark, 
handsome  features,  something  too  invariable  and 
cynical  ;  but  all  this  thawed  or  brightened  away, 
and  I  became  much  interested  in  him  and  his  works. 

Sternberg,  as  an  author,  may  be  classed,  I  think, 
with  many  other  accomplished  and  popular  authors 
of  the  day,  flourishing  here,  in  France,  and  in  Eng- 
land, simultaneously — signs  of  the  times  in  which 
we  live,  taking  the  form  and  pressure  of  the  age, 
not  informing  it  with  their  own  spirit.  Thoy  are  a 
set  of  men  who  have  drunk  deep,  even  to  license,  of 
the  follies,  the  pleasures,  and  the  indulgences  of  so- 
ciety, even  while  they  struggled  (some  of  them  at 
least)  with  its  most  bitter,  and  most  vulgar  cares. 
From  this  gulf  the  intellect  rises,  perhaps,  in  all  its 
primeval  strength,  the  imagination  in  all  its  bril- 
liance, the  product  of  both  as  luxuriant  as  ever; 
but  we  are  told, 

"  That  every  gift  of  noble  origin, 
Is  breathed  upon  by  Hope's  perpetual  brentli !" 

And  a  breath  of  a  different  kind  has  gone  over  the 
works  of  these  writers — a  breath  as  from  a  lazar- 
house.  A  power  is  gone  from  them  which  nothing 
can  restore,  the  healthy,  the  clear  vision,  with  which 


'  tiJ 


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226 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


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a  fresh,  pure  mind  looks  round  upon  the  social  and 
the  natural  world,  perceiving  the  due  relations  of  all 
things  one  with  another,  and  beholding  the  "  soul  of 
goodness  in  things  evil ;"  these  authors,  if  we  are 
to  believe  their  own  account  of  themselves,  given 
in  broad  hints,  and  very  intelligible  mysterious  allu- 
sions, have  suffered  horribly  from  the  dominion  of 
the  passions,  from  the  mortifications  of  wounded  self- 
love,  betrayed  confidence,  ruined  hopes, ill-directed 
and  ill-requited  affections,  and  a  \ong  etcetera  of  mi- 
series. They  wish  us  to  believe,  that  in  order  to  pro- 
duce any  thing  true  and  great  in  art,  it  is  necessary 
to  have  known  and  gone  through  all  this,  to  have 
been  dragged  through  this  sink  of  dissipation,  or 
this  fiery  furnace  of  suffering  and  passion.  I  don't 
know.  Goethe,  at  least,  did  not  think  so,  when  he 
spoke  of  the  "  sort  of  anticipation"  through  v^hich 
he  produced  his  Gotz  von  Berlichingen  and  his 
Werther.  I  hope  it  is  not  so.  I  hope  that  a  know- 
ledge of  our  human  and  immortal  nature,  and  the 
due  exercise  of  our  faculties,  does  net  depend  on 
this  sort  of  limited,  unhealthy,  artificial  experience. 
It  is  as  if  u  man  or  woman  cither,  in  order  to  learn 
the  free,  nat.iral  graceful  use  of  x\\p.  limbs,  were  to 
take  lessons  of  a  rope-dancer;  but  waving  this,  we 
see  in  these  writers,  that  what  they  call  truth  and 
experience  has  at  least  been  bought  rather  dear  ; 
they  can  never  again,  by  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia, 
sweeten  what  has  been  once  polluted;  nor  take  the 
blistering  scar  from  their  brow.  From  their  works 
we  rise  with  admiration,  with  delight,  with  astonish- 
ment at  the  talent  displayed  ;  with  the  most  excited 


I  - ,  w 


Sternberg's  novels. 


227 


feelings,  but  never  with  that  bl  \meless  as  well  as 
vivid  sense  of  pleasure,  that  unreproved  delight,  that 
grateful  sense   of  a  healings  holy    influence,    with 
which    we   lay    down    Shakspeare,    Walter   Scott, 
Wordsworth,  Goethe.     Yet  what  was  hidden  from 
these  men  ?     Did  they  not  know  all  that  the  world, 
and  man,  and  nature  could  unfold?     They  knew  it 
by  "  anticipation,"  by  soaring  on  the  wings  of  un- 
trammelled thought,  far,  far  above  the  turmoil,  and 
looking  superior  down,  and  with  the  ample  ken  of 
genius  embraced  a  universe.     These  modern  novel 
writers  appear  to  me  in  comparison  like  children, 
whose   imperfect  faculties  and  experience  induce 
them  to  touch  every  thing  they  see  ;  so  they  burn  or 
soil  their  fingers,  and  the  blister  and  the  stain  sticks 
perpetual  to  their  pages — those  pages  which  yet  can 
melt,  or  dazzle,  or  charm.     Nothing  that  is,  or  has 
been,  or  m? y  be,  can  they  see  but  through  some  per- 
sonal medium.     What  they  have  themselves  felt, 
suffered,  seen,  is  always  before  them,  is  mixed  up 
with  their  fancy,  is  the  maloiial  of  their  existence, 
and  this  gives  certainly  a  degree  of  vigor,  a  palpa- 
ble  reality,  a  life,  to  all  they  do,  which  carries  us 
away;  but  a  man  might  as  well  think  to  view  the 
face  of  universal  nature,  to  catch  the  pure,  unmixed, 
all-en.')racing  light  of  day  through  one  of  the  gor- 
geous painted  windows  of  Westminster  Abbey,  as  to 
perceive  abstract  moral  truth  through  the  minds  of 
these  writers  ;  but  they  have  their  use,  ay,  and  their 
beauty — like  all  things  in  the  world — only  I  would 
not  be  one  of  such.     I  do  not  think  them  enviable 
either  in  themselves  as  individuals,  or  in  the  immc- 


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228 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


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diate  effect  they  produce,  and  the  sor'  of  applause 
they  excite  ;  but  they  have  their  praise,  their  merit, 
their  u.te — they  have  their  dai/ — hereafter,  perhaps, 
to  be  remembered  as  we  remember  the  school  of 
writers  before  the  French  revolution  ;  as  we  think 
of  the  wretched  slave,  oi'  the  rash  diver,  who  from 
the  pit  or  from  the  whirlpool  has  snatched  some 
gems  worthy  to  be  gathered  into  Truth's  immortal 
treasury,  or  wreathed  into  her  diadem  of  light. 

They  have  their  day — how  long  it  will  last,  how 
long  the?/  will  last,  is  another  thing. 

I'o  this  school  of  fiction-writing  belong  many  au- 
thors of  great  and  various  merit,  und  of  very  dif- 
ferent character  and  tendencies.  Some  by  true  but 
partial  portraitures  of  social  evils  boldly  aiming  at 
the  overthrow  of  institutions  from  which  they  have 
as  individuals  suffered  ;  others,  through  this  medium, 
publicly  professing  opinions  they  would  hardly  dare 
to  promulgate  in  a  drawing-room,  and  discussing 
questions  of  a  doubtful  or  perilous  tendency  ;  others, 
only  throwing  off,  in  a  manner,  the  impressions  of 
their  own  minds,  developed  in  beautiful  fictions, 
without  any  ultimate  object  beyond  that  of  being 
read  with  sympathy  and  applause — espec'-^lly  uy 
women. 

1  think  Sternberg  belongs  to  the  latter  clapis.  lie 
has  writtcM  some  most  charming  things.  I  should  not 
exactly  know  where  to  find  his  prototype:  he  reminds 
me  of  Bulwer  sometimes,  and  one  or  two  of  his 
tales  are  in  Barry  St,  Leger'a  best  manner — the 
eloquence,  the  depth  of  tragic  and  passionate  inte- 
rest, are  just  his  ;  then,  again,  others  remind  me  of 


ly  au- 

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sternbeug's  novels. 


229 


Wilson,  when  he  is  fanciful  and  unearthly  ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  his  genius  differs  essentially  from  all 
these. 

His  comic  and  fantastic  tales  are  exquisite.  The 
fancy  and  the  humor  run  i«jto  pathos  and  poetry, 
and  never  into  caricature,  like  some  of  Hoffmann's. 

One  of  the  first  things  I  fell  upon  was  his  "  Herr 
von    Mondshein,"  (Master  Moonshine,)  a  \in\ejeu 
d^esprit,  on  which  it  seems  he  sets  small  value  him- 
self, but  v^hich  is  aii  exquisite  thing  for  all  that — so 
wildly,  yet  so   playfully,  so  gracefully  grotesque! 
The  effect  of  the  whole  is  really  like  that  of  moon- 
light on  a  rippled  stream,  now  seen,  now  lost,  now 
here,  now  there — it  is  the  moon  we  see — and  then 
it  is  not ;  and  yet  it  is  again  !  and  it  smiles,  and  it 
shines,  and  it  simpers,  and  it  glitters,  and  it  is  at  once 
in  heaven  and  on  the  ear».h,  near  and  distant,  by  our 
side,  or  peeped  at  through  an  astronomer's  telescope  ; 
now    helping   off  a   pair   of  lovers — then   yonder 
among  the  stars — and  in   the  end  we  rub  our  eyes, 
and  find  it  is  just  what  it  ought  to  be — all  moon.' 
shine  ! 

Superior  and  altogether  different  is  the  tale  of 
**  Moliere," — the  leading  idea  of  which  appears 
to  me  beautiful. 

A  physician  of  celebrity  at  Paris,  the  inventor  of 
some  famous  elixir — half  quack,  half  enthusiasi,  and 
something  too  of  a  philosopher — finds  himself,  by 
some  chance,  in  the  parterre  at  the  representation 
of  one  of  Moliere's  comedies,  in  which  the  whole 
learned  faculty  are  so  exquisitely  ridiculed ;  the 
player  who  represents  the  principal  character,  in 
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230 


SUAIMBR    RAMBLES. 


order  to  make  the  satire  more  poignant,  arrays 
himself  in  the  habitual  dress  of  Tristan  Dieu- 
donne ;  the  unfortunate  doctor  sees  hi-^iiself  repro- 
duced on  the  stage  with  every  circumstance  of  ig- 
nominious ridicule,  hears  around  him  the  loud  ap- 
plause, the  laugh  of  derision — meets  in  every  eye 
the  mocking  glance  of  recognition  ;  his  brain  turns, 
and  he  leaves  the  theatre  a  raving  maniac.  (So  far 
the  tale  is  an  "  o'er  true  tale.")  By  degrees  this 
frenzy  subsides  into  a  calmer  but  more  hopeless, 
more  melancholy  madness ;  he  shuts  hiniself  up 
from  mankind,  at  one  time  sinking  into  a  gloomy  des- 
pondency, at  another  revelling  in  projects  of  ven- 
geance against  Moliere,  his  enemy  and  destroyer. 
One  only  consolation  remains  to  him  ;  in  this  misera- 
ble, abject  state,  a  charitable  neighbor  comes  to  vi- 
sit him  daily ;  by  degrees  wins  upon  the  affections, 
and  gains  the  confidence  of  the  poor  madman — 
soothes  him,  cheers  him,  and  performs  for  him  all 
tender  offices  of  filial  love  ;  and  this  good  Samaritan 
is  of  course  the  heart-stricken,  remorseful  poet, 
Moliere  himself. 

There  is  a  love-story  interwoven  of  no  great  in- 
terest, and  many  discussions  between  the  poet  and 
the  madman,  on  morals,  'nedicine,  philosophy  :  that 
in  which  the  insane  doctor  endeavors  to  prove  that 
many  of  his  patients  who  appear  to  be  living  are  in 
reality  dead,  is  very  striking  and  very  true  to  nature  : 
shows  how  ingenious  metaphysical  madness  can 
sometimes  be. 

Other  known  personages,  as  Boileau,  Chapelain, 
Racine,  are  introduced  in  person,  and  give  us  their 


STERNBERG  8  NOVELS. 


231 


opinions  on  j^'oetry,  acting,  the  fine  arts,  with  consi- 
derable discriminiition,  in  the  characters  of  the 
sy)eakers. 

The  scenes  of  Parisian  society  in  this  novel  are 
not  so  good  ;  rather  heavy  and  G:;rmanesque — cer- 
tainly not  French. 

"  Lessing"  is  another  tale  in  which  Sternberg  has 
taken  a  real  personage  for  his  hero.  lie  says  that 
he  has  endeavored,  in  these  two  tales,  to  delineate 
the  strife  which  a  man  whose  genius  is  in  advance 
of  the  age  in  which  he  lives,  must  carry  on  with  all 
around  him.  They  may  be  called  biographical 
novels. 

«  #  •  • 

"  Galathee,"  Sternberg's  last  novel,  had  just  made 
its  appearance  when  I  was  at  Weimar ;  all  the  wo- 
men were  reading  it  and  commenting  on  it — some 
in  anger,  some  in  sorrow,  almost  all  in  admiration. 
It  is  allowed  to  be  the  finest  thing  he  has  done  in 
point  of  style.  To  me  it  is  a  painful  book.  It  is 
the  history  of  the  intrigues  of  a  beautiful  coquette 
and  a  Jesuit  priest  to  gain  over  a  young  Protestant 
nobleman  from  his  faith  and  his  betrothed  love. 
They  provo  but  coo  successful.  In  the  end  he  turns 
Roman  Catholic,  and  forsakes  his  bride.  The  he- 
roine, Galathee,  dies  quietly  of  a  broken  heart. 
'•  The  more  fool  she  !"  1  thought,  as  I  closed  the 
book,  "  to  die  for  the  sake  of  a  man  who  was  not 
worth  living  for  !"  but  '*  'tis  a  way  we  have." 

Sternberg's  women — his  virtuous  women  especi- 
ally, (to  be  sure  he  is  rather  sparing  of  them,) — 
have  always  individual  character,  and  are  touched 


,*t 


t 


U!i 


ih 


232 


SUMMCR    RAMBLES. 


1'^    I 


with  a  firm,  a  delicate,  a  graceful  pencil ;  but 
his  men  are  almost  without  exception  vile,  or 
insipid,  or  eccentric — and  his  heroes  (where  could 
he  find  them  ?)  are  absolutely  chararter/ess — as  weak 
as  they  are  detestahle. 

Sternberg  possesses,  with  many  other  talents, 
that  of  being  an  accomplished  amateur  artist.  He 
sketches  charmingly  and  with  enviable  facility  and 
truth  catches  the  characteristic  forms  both  of  persons 
and  things.  Then  he  has  all  the  arcana  of  a  lady's 
toilette  at  the  end  of  his  pencil,  and  his  glance  is  as 
fastidious  as  it  is  rapid  in  detecting  any  peculiarity 
of  dress  or  manner.  Wher>ever  he  came  tons  he 
used  to  ask  for  some  white  paper,  which,  while  he 
talked  or  listened,  he  covered  with  the  prettiest 
sketches  and  fancies  imaginable;  but  whether  this 
was  to  employ  his  fingers,  or  to  prevent  me  from 
looking  into  his  eyes  while  he  spoke,  I  was  never 
quite  sure. 

This  talent  for  drawing — this  lively  sense  of  the 
picturesque  in  form  and  color,  we  trace  through  all 
his  works.  Some  of  the  most  striking  passages — 
those  which  dwell  most  strongly  on  the  memory — 
are  pictures.  Thus  the  meeting  of  IMoliere  and  the 
Doctor  in  the  church-yard  at  dusk  of  evening,  the 
maniac  seated  on  the  grave,  the  other  standing  by, 
wrapped  in  his  flowing  mantle,  with  his  hat  and 
feather  pulled  over  his  brow,  and  bending  over  his 
victim  with  benevolent  expression,  is  what  painters 
call  a  fine  "  bit  of  effect."  The  scene  in  the  half- 
lighted  chapel,  where  the  beautiful  Countess  Meli- 
qerte  is  doing  penance,  and  receiving  on  her  naked 


Sternberg's  novels. 


iJ33. 


shoulders  the  scourge  from  the  hand  of  her  coiifessof, 
13  a  very  powerful  but  also  a  very  disagreeable  piece 
of  painting.  The  lady  iv  „nmson  velvet  seated  on 
the  ground  en  Madelcnc,  with  her  silver  crucifix  on 
her  knees  and  her  long  dark  jewelled  tresses  flowing 
dishevelled,  is  a  fine  bit  of  color,  and  the  court 
ballet  in  the  gardens  of  the  Favorita  Palace  a  per- 
Tect  Watteau.  Reading  very  fine,  eloquent,  and 
vivid  descriptions  of  nature  and  natural  scenery, 
by  writers  who  give  us  licentious  pictures  of  social 
life  in  a  narrow,  depraved,  and  satirical  spirit,  is 
vory  disagreeable — it  always  leaves  on  the  mind  an 
impression  of  discord  and  unfitness.  And  this  dis- 
crepancy is  of  perpetual  recurrence  in  Sternberg,, 
and  in  other  writers  of  his  class. 

But  it  is  in  the  tale  entitled  Die  Gebriider  Breu- 
ghel (the  Two  Breughels)  that  Sternberg  has  aban- 
doned himself  cow  amore  to  all  his  artist-like  feelings 
and  predilections.  The  younger  Breughel  (known 
by  the  names  of  Hollen  Breughel  and  the  "  Mad 
Painter,"  on  account  of  the  diabolical  subjects  in 
which  his  pencil  revelled,)  is  the  hero  of  this  re- 
markable tale  :  forsaking  the  worship  of  beauty,  hj 
paid  a  kind  of  crazed  adoration  to  deformity,  and 
painted  his  fantastic  and  extravagant  creations  with 
truly  demoniac  skill  and  power,  Sternberg  makes 
the  cause  of  this  eccentric  perversion  of  genius  a 
love-affair,  which  has  turned  the  poor  painter's  wits 
"  the  seamy  side  without,"  and  rendered  him  the 
apostate  to  all  that  is  beautiful  in  nature  and  art. 
This  love-tale,  however,  occupies  little  of  the  inte- 
rest.    The  charm  of  the  whole  consists  in  the  lively 

20* 


:ili- 


234 


SUMMER    RAMBLES* 


m 


{  i 


'iv= 


Hi 


vl  '! 


sketches  of  Flemish  art,  and  the  characteristic  por- 
traits of  different  well-known  artists  :  we  have  the 
gay,  vivacious  Teniers — the  elegant  and  somewhat 
affected  Poelenberg — the  coarse,  good-humored 
Jordaens — Peter  Laers,  the  tavern-keeper — the 
grave  yet  splendid  coxcombry  of  the  Velvet 
Breughel — his  eccentric,  half-crazed  brother,  the 
Hero — old  Peter  Kock,  with  his  color  mania,  (the 
Turner  of  his  day,)  and  presidi  '^'  over  all,  the  noble, 
the  magnificent  Peter  Paul  Rubens,  and  the  digni- 
fied, benevolent  Burgomaster  Hubert,  the  patron  of 
art:  all  these  are  brought  together  in  groups,  and 
admirably  discriminated.  In  this  tale,  Sternberg 
has  most  ingeniously  transferred  to  his  pages  some 
celebrated  and  well-known  pictures  as  actual  scenes  ; 
and  thus  Painting  pays  back  part  of  her  debt  to 
Poetry  and  Fiction.  The  Alchymist  in  his  labora- 
tory— the  Gambling  Soldiers — the  Boors  and  Beg- 
gars at  curds — the  Incantation  in  the  Witch's  Tower 
— the  Burning  Mill — the  Page  asleep  in  the  Ante- 
chamber— ^"ld  the  Country  Merrymaking — are  each 
a  Rembrandt,  a  Jordaens,  an  Ostade,  a  Peter  Laers, 
a  Breughel,  or  a  Teniers,  transferred  from  the  can- 
vass to  the  page,  and  painted  in  words  almost  as 
brilliant  and  lively  as  the  original  colors. 

I  doubt  whether  a  translation  of  this  clever  tale 
would  please  generally  in  England  ;  it  is  too  dis- 
cursive and  argumentative.  It  requires  a  familiar 
knowledge  of  art  and  artists,  as  well  as  a  feeling  for 
art,  to  enter  into  it,  for  it  is  almost  entirely  devoid 
of  any  interest  arising  from  incident  or  passion. 
Yet  I  sat  up  till  after  two  o'clock  this  morning  to 


DETACHED    THOUGHTS. 


235 


finish  it,  wasting  my  eyes  over  the  small  type,  like 
tt  most  foolish  improvident  woman. 


As  the  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss,  so  the  roving 
heart  guthers  no  affections. 


I  have  met  with  certain  minds  which  seem  never 
to  be  themselves  penetrated  by  truth,  yet  have  the 
power  to  demonstrate  clearly  and  beautifully  to 
other  minds,  as  there  are  certain  substances  which 
most  brightly  reflect,  and  only  partially  absorb,  the 
rays  of  light. 


I  (' 


'  m 


.1 


Reading  what  Charles  Lamb  says  on  the  "sanity 
of  true  genius,"  it  appears  to  me  that  genitis  and 
sanity  have  nothing  (necessarily)  to  do  with  each 
other.  Genius  may  be  combined  with  a  healthy  or 
a  morbid  organization.  Sh;iks[)enre,  Walter  Scott, 
Goethe,  are  examples  of  the  furmer  :  Byron,  Col- 
lins, Kirke  White,  are  examples  of  the  latter. 


A  man  may  be  as  much  a  fool  from  the  want  of 
sensibility  as  the  want  of  sense. 


-'  f 
,  1 


'(I 


'  m 


'^U,  J, 


'I  ■  I 

( 

( 

230 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


How  admirable  what  Sir  James  Mackintosh  says 
of  Madame  de  Maintenon  ! — that  "  she  was  as  vir- 
tuous as  the  fear  of  hell  and  the  fear  of  shame 
could  make  her."  The  same  might  be  said  of  the 
virtue  of  many  women  I  know,  and  of  these,  I  be- 
lieve that  more  are  virtuous  from  the  fear  of  shame 
than  the  fear  of  hell. — Shame  is  the  woman's  hell. 


'.  f  •(;! 


."  II 


Rahel*  said  once  of  an  acquaintance,  "  Such  a 
one  is  an  ignorant  man.  He  knows  nothing  but 
what  he  has  learned,  and  that  is  little,  for  a  man  can 
only  learn  that  which  man  already  knows." — Well, 
and  truly,  and  profoundly  said  ! 


Every  faculty,  every  impulse  of  our  human  na- 
ture, is  useful,  available,  in  proportion  as  it  is  dan- 
gerous. The  greatest  blessings  are  those  which 
may  be  perverted  to  most  pain  :  as  fire  and  watev 
are  the  two  most  murderous  agents  in  nature,  and 
the  two  things  in  which  we  can  least  endure  to  bo 
stinted. 


1  ,.i;. 


Who  that  has  lived  in  the  world,  in  society,  and' 
looked  on  both   with  observing  eye,  but  has  often 

*  Madame  Varnhagen  von  Ense,  whose  remains  were  pub- 
lished a  few  years  ago.  The  book  of  "  Rahel"'  is  famous  from, 
one  end  of  Germany  to  the  othn-,  but  remains,  I  believe,  rt 
sealed  fountain  still  for  English  readers. 


DETACHED    THOUGHTS. 


237 


been  astonished  at  the  fearlessness  of  women, 
and  the  cowardice  of  men,  with  regard  to  public 
opinion  1  The  reverse  would  seem  to  be  the  natu- 
ral, the  necessary  result  of  the  existing  order  of 
things,  but  it  is  not  always  so.  Exceptions  occur 
so  often,  and  so  immediately  within  my  own  pro- 
vince of  observation,  that  they  liave  made  me  reflect 
a  good  deal.  Perhaps  this  seeming  discrepancy 
might  be  thus  explained. 

Women  are  brought  up  in  the  fear  of  opinion,  but 
from  their  ignorance  of  the  world,  they  are  in  fact 
ignorant  of  that  which  they  fear.  They  fear  opinion 
as  a  child  fears  a  spectre,  as  something  shadowy  and 
horrible,  not  defined  or  palpable.  It  is  a  fear  based 
on  habit,  on  feeling,  not  on  principle  or  reason. 
"When  their  passions  are  strongly  excited,  or  when 
reason  becomes  matured,  tins  exaggerated  fear 
vanishes,  and  the  probability  is,  that  ihey  are  imme- 
diately thrown  into  the  opposite  extreme  of  iiutre- 
dulity,  defiance  and  rashness  :  but  a  man,  even  while 
courage  is  preached  to  him,  learns  from  habitual 
intercourse  with  the  world,  the  immense,  the  terrible 
power  of  opinion.  It  wraps  him  round  like  despo- 
tism ;  it  is  a  reality  to  him  ;  to  a  woman  a  shadow, 
and  if  she  can  overcome  the  fear  in  her  own  person, 
all  is  overcome.  A  man  fears  opinion  for  himself, 
his  wife,  his  daughter;  and  if  the  fear  of  opinion 
be  brought  into  conflict  with  primary  sentiments 
and  principles,  it  is  ten  to  (me  but  the  habit  of  fear 
prevails,  and  opinion  triumphs  over  reason  and  feel- 
ing too. 


n; 


Ik 


I.*    L  ..I 


I     f     ::\ 


I ' 


238 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


.it   )i'^ 


The  new  law  passed  during  tlie  last  session  of 
our  provincial  parliament,  '*  to  render  the  remedy  in 
cases  of  seduction  more  effectual,"  has  just  come  into 
operation.  What  were  the  circumstances  which  gave 
rise  to  this  law,  and  to  its  peculiar  provisions,  I  cannot 
learn.  Here  it  is  touching  on  delicate  and  even  for- 
bidden ground  to  ask  any  questions.  One  person  said 
that  it  was  to  guard  against  infanticide ;  and  I  recollect 
hearing  the  same  sort  of  argument  used  in  London 
against  one  particular  clauseof  the  new  Poor  Law  Act, 
viz.  that  it  would  encourage  infanticide.  This  is  the 
most  gross  and  unpardonable  libel  on  our  sex  ever 
uttered.  Women  do  not  murder  their  children 
from  the  fear  of  want,  but  from  the  fear  of  shame. 
In  this  fear,  substituted  for  the  light  and  the  strength 
of  virtue  and  genuine  self-respect,  are  women 
trained,  till  it  becomes  a  second  nature — not  indeed 
stronger  than  the  natural  instincts  and  the  passions 
which  God  gave  us,  but  strong  enough  to  drive  to 
madness  and  delirious  outrage  the  wretched  victim 
who  finds  the  struggle  between  these  contradictory 
feelings  too  great  for  her  conscience,  her  reason, 
her  strength.  Nothing,  as  it  seems  to  me,  but 
throwing  the  woman  upon  her  own  self-respect 
and  added  responsibility,  can  bring  a  remedy 
to  this  fearful  state  of  things.  To  say  that  the 
punishment  of  the  fault,  already  too  great,  is 
thereby  increased,  is  not  true ;  it  admitted  of  no 
real  increase.  In  entailing  irremediable  disgrace, 
and  death  of  name  and  fame,  upon  the  frail  woman, 
the  law  of  society  had  done  its  utmost ;  and  to  let 
it  be  supposed  that  the  man  had  power  to  make 


r(! 


'  >'«!  i;f 


tfl 


DETACtlED    THOUGHTS. 


289 


amends  by  pajing  a  nominal  tax  for  indulgence 
bought  at  such  a  tremendous  price,  what  was  it 
but  to  flatter  and  delude  both  the  vanity  of  lordly, 
sensual  man,  and  the  weakness  of  wretched,  igno- 
rant, trusting  woman  1  As  long  as  treachery  to 
woman  is  honorable  in  vnan  ;  as  long  as  men  do  not, 
or  will  not  protect  us ;  as  long  as  we  women  cannot 
protect  ourselves,  their  protecting  laws  are  a  farce 
and  a  moccery.  Opinion  has  ever  been  stronger 
than  law.  Luckily  there  is  something  stronger 
than  either. 


It  was  not  for  the  forms,  though  fair, 
Though  grand  they  were  beyond  compare,— 
It  was  not  only  for  the  forms 
Of  Ijills  in  sunshine  or  in  storms, 
Or  only  unrestrain'd  to  look 
On  wood  and  lake,  that  she  forsook 
By  day  or  night 

Her  home,  and  far 
Wander'd  by  light 
Of  sun  or  star — 
It  was  to  feel  her  fancy  free, 

Free  in  a  world  without  an  end: 
Wit.'i  cars  to  hear,  and  eye    o  see, 
And  heart  to  apprehend. 

"^fAYLORs  Philip  Van  Ar  level  de. 

June  13. 
In  these  latter  days  I  have  lived  in  friendly  com- 
munion with  so  many  exellent  people,  that  my 
departure  from  Toronto  was  not  what  I  anticipated 
— an  escape  on  one  side,  or  a  riddance  on  the  other 
My  projected  tour  to  the  west  excited  not  only 
Some  interct,  but  much  kind  solicitude;  and  aid 


t 


"J 


n:..\ 


'.'1 3 


'I  >f 


240 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


I'U 


!l'^ 


fi  li 


and  counsel  were  tendered  with  a  feelini;  which 
touched  me  deeply.  The  chief  justice,  in  particular, 
sent  me  a  whole  sheet  of  instructions,  and  several 
letters  of  introduction  to  settlers  along  my  line  of 
route.  Fitzgibbon,  always  benevolent,  gave  me 
sensible  and  cheerful  encouragement  as  we  walked 
leisurely  down  to  the  pier,  to  embark  in  the  steam- 
boat which  was  to  carry  me  across  the  lake  to 
Niagara. 

And  here  I  might  moralize  on  the  good  effects  of 
being  ^oo  early  instead  of  too  late  on  a  journey  :  on 
the  present  occasion,  having  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or 
twenty  minutes  to  spare  proved  the  most  important 
and  most  fortunate  circumstance  which  could  have 
occurred  at  my  outset. 

The  first  bell  of  the  steam-boat  had  not  yet  rung, 
when  my  good  friend  Dr.  Rees  came  running  up  to 
tell  me  that  the  missionary  from  the  Sault  St.Maric, 
and  his  Indian  wife,  had  arrived  at  Toronto,  and 
were  then  at  the  inn,  and  that  there  was  just  time 
to  introduce  me  to  them.  No  sooner  thought  than 
done  :  in  another  moment  we  were  in  the  hotel, 
and  1  was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Mac  Murray,  othcr- 
wiseO-ge-ne-bu-go-quay,  (i.  e.  theivild  rose.) 

I  must  confess  that  the  specimens  of  Indian 
squaws  and  half-cast  women  I  had  met  with,  had 
in  no  wise  prepared  me  for  what  I  found  in  Mrs. 
Mac  Murray.  The  first  glance,  the  first  sound  of 
her  voice,  struck  me  with  a  pleased  surprise.  Her 
figure  is  tall — at  least  it  is  rather  above  than  below 
the  middle  size,  with  that  indescribable  grace  and 
undulation  of  movement  which  speaks  the  perfection 


MRS.    ICACMURRAY. 


241 


of  form.  Her  features  are  distinctly  Indian,  but 
softened  and  refined,  and  their  expression  at  once 
bright  and  kindly.  Her  dark  eyes  have  a  sort  of 
fawn-like  shyness  in  their  glance,  but  her  manner, 
though  timid,  was  quite  free  from  embarrassment  or 
restraint.  She  speaks  English  well,  with  a  slightly 
foreign  intonation,  not  the  less  pleasing  to  my  ear 
that  it  reminded  me  of  the  voice  and  accent  of  some 
of  my  German  friends.  In  two  minutes  I  was  seat- 
ed by  her — my  hand  kindly  folded  in  hers — and  we 
were  talking  over  the  possibility  of  my  plans.  It 
seems  there  is  some  chance  of  my  reaohing  the 
Island  of  Michillimackinac,  but  of  the  Sault  St. 
Marie,  I  dare  hardly  think  as  yet — it  looms  in  my 
iru  /.  ation  dimly  described  in  far  space,  a  kind  of 
T;..  :  Thulc  ;  yet  the  sight  of  Mrs.  MacMurray 
seemed  to  give  something  definite  to  the  vague  hope 
which  had  been  floating  in  my  mind.  Her  sister, 
she  said,  was  married  to  the  Indian  agent  at  Michil- 
limackinac,* a  man  celebrated  in  the  United  States 
for  his  scientific  researches  ;  and  from  both  she 
promised  me  a  welcome,  should  I  reach  their  island. 
To  her  own  far-off  home  at  the  Sault  St.  Marie,  be- 
tween Lake  Huron  and  Lake  Superior,  she  warmly 
invited  me — without,  however,  being  able  to  point 
out  any  conveyance  or  mode  of  travel  thither  that 
could  be  depended  on — only  a  possible  chance  of 
such.  Meantime,  there  was  some  hope  of  our  meet- 
ing somewhere  on  the  road,  but  it  was  of  the  faint- 
est.    She  thanked  me  feelingly  for  the  interest  I 


VOL.    IV. 


Henry  Schoolcraft,  Esq. 
21 


i 


....■!  ', 


■I' 


m 


'r 


r 

m. 

t!   i 

1 

,!  i«. 


242 


SU3IMER    RAMBLES. 


M 


■.i   .  I 


Ri         \f'\'' 


took  in  her  own  fated  race,  and  gave  me  excellent 
hints  as  to  my  manner  of  proceeding.  We  were  in 
the  full  tide  of  conversation  when  the  bell  of  the 
steamboat  rang  for  the  last  time,  and  I  was  hurried 
off.  On  the  deck  of  the  vessel  1  found  her  husband, 
Mr.  Mac  Murray,  who  hoi  only  time  to  say,  in  few- 
est words,  all  that  was  proper,  polite,  and  hospitable. 
This  rencontre,  which  some  would  call  accidental, 
and  some  providential,  pleased  and  encouraged  me, 
p.nd  I  felt  very  grateful  to  Dr.  Reas. 

Then  came  blessings,  good  wishes,  kind  pressures 
of  the  hand,  and  last  adieus,  and  waving  of  hand- 
kerchiefs from  the  shore,  as  the  paddles  were  set  in 
motion,  and  we  glided  swiftly  over  the  mirror-like 
bay,  while  "  there  was  not  a  breath  the  blue  waves 
to  curl." 

I  had  not  been  happy  enough  in  Toronto  to  regret 
it  as  a  place  ;  and  if  touched,  as  I  truly  was,  by  the 
kind  solicitude  of  those  friends  who,  but  a  few  weeks 
ago,  were  entire  strangers  to  me,  I  yet  felt  no  sor- 
row. Though  no  longer  young,  I  am  quite  young 
enough  to  feel  all  the  excitemf^nt  of  plunging  into 
Bcenes  so  entirely  new  as  W€re  now  opening  before 
me;  and  this,  too,  with  a  specific  object  far  beyond 
mere  amusement  and  excitement — an  object  not 
unworthy. 

But  though  the  spirit  was  willing  and  cheerful,  I 
was  under  the  necessity  of  remembering  that  I  was 
not  all  spirit,  but  clogged  with  a  material  frame 
which  required  some  looking  after.  My  general 
health  had  suffered  during  the  long  trying  winter, 
and  it  was  judiciously  suggested  that  I  should  spend 


y 


A    NIGHT    STORM. 


243 


a  fortnight  at  the  falls  of  Niagara  to  recruit,  previous 
to   my  journey.     The  good  sense  of  this  advice  1 
could   not  appreciate  at  the  time,  any  more  than  I 
could  anticipate  the  fatigues  and  difficulties  which 
TiWaited  me  ;  but  my  good   angel,  in  the  shape  of  a 
a  certain  languid  inclination  for  silence  and  repose, 
whispered  me  to  listen  and  obey — fortunately,  or 
providvintially.       Meantime   I   was  alone — alone — 
and  on  my  way  to  that  ultimate  somewhere  of  which 
1  knew  nothing,  with  forests,  and   plains,  and  suc- 
cessive seas  intervening.     The  day  was  sultry,  the 
air  heavy  and   still,   and  a  strange  fog,  or  rather  i 
series  of  dark  clouds,  hung  resting  on  the  bosom  of 
the  lake,  which  in  some  places  was   smooth  and 
transparent  aa  glass — in  others,  little  eddies  of  wind 
had  ruffled  it  into  tiny  waves,  or  welts  rather — so 
that  it  presented  the  appearance  of  patchwork.    The 
boatmen  looked  up  and  foretold  a  storm  ;  but  when 
we  came  within  three  or  four  miles  from  the  mouth 
of  the  river  Niagara,  the  fog  drew  off  like  a  curtain, 
and  the  interminable  line  of  the  dark  forest  came 
into  view,  stretching  right  and  left  along  the  whole 
horizon  ;  then  the  white  buildings  of  the  American 
fort,  and  the  spires  of  the  town  of  Niagara,  became 
visible  against  the  rich  purple-green  back-ground 
and  we  landed   after  a  four  hotrs'  voyage.     The 
threatened  storm  came  on  that  night.     The  summer 
storms  of  Canada  are  like  those  of  the  tropics;  not 
in  Italy,  not  among  the  Appenines,  where  I  have  in 
my  time  heard  the  "  live  thunder  leaping  from  crag 
to  crag,"  did  I  ever  hear  such  terrific  explosions  of 
sound  as  burst  over  our  beads  this  night.     The 


fj 


y 


2U 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


r   :''J     i 


silence  and  the  c  irkness  lent  an  added  horror  to  the 
elemental  tumult — and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
felt  sickened  and  unpleasantly  affected  in  the  inter- 
vals between  the  thunder-claps,  though  I  cannot  say 
I  felt  fear.  Meantime  the  rain  fell  as  in  a  deluge, 
threatening  to  wash  us  into  the  lake,  which  reared 
itself  up,  and  roared — like  a  monster  for  its  prey. 

Yet  the  next  morning,  when  I  went  down  upon 
the  shore,  how  beautiful  it  looked — the  hypocrite  J 
— there  it  lay  rocking  and  sleeping  in  the  sunshine, 
quiet  as  a  cradled  infant.  Niagara,  in  its  girdle  of 
verdure  and  foliage,  glowing  with  fresh  life,  and 
breathing  perfume,  appeared  to  me  a  far  different 
place  from  what  I  had  seen  in  winter.  Yet  I  recol- 
lect, as  I  stood  on  the  shore,  the  effect  produced  on 
my  mind  by  the  sound  of  the  death-bell  pealing 
along  the  sunny  blue  waters.  They  said  it  was 
tolled  for  a  young  man  of  respectable  family,  who, 
at  the  age  of  three  or  four  and  twenty,  had  died 
from  habitual  drinking  ;  his  elder  brother  having  a 
y«ar  or  two  before  fallen  from  his  horse  in  a  state  of 
intoxication,  and  perished  in  consequence.  Yes, 
every  thing  I  see  and  hear  on  this  subject  convinces 
me  that  it  should  be  one  of  the  first  objects  of  the 
government  to  put  down,  by  all  and  every  means, 
a  vice  which  is  rotting  at  the  core  of  this  infant 
society — poi«r;iing  the  very  sources  of  existence. 
But  all  their  taxes,  and  prohibitions,  and  excise  laws, 
will  do  little  good,  unless  they  facilitate  the  means 
of  education.  In  society  the  same  evening,  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  very  young,  very  pretty,  sad-looking 
creature,  with  h(3r  first  baby  at  her  bosom,  whose- 


}  ,      '  ■■  H' 


il      ■  IS, 


"T^S^ 


THfi    MANIAC. 


245 


husband  war  st  iggering  and  talking  drunken  gibber- 
ish at  her  side,  completed  the  impression  of  disgust 
and  affright  with  which  the  continual  spectacle  of 
this  vile  habit  strikes  me  since  I  have  been  in  this 
country. 

In  the  dockyard  here,  I  was  glad  to  find  all  in 
movement ;  a  steamer  was  on  the  stocks,  measuring 
one  hundred  and  twenty-nine  feet  in  length,  and 
twenty  in  the  beam  ;  also  a  large  schooner ;  and 
all  the  brass-work  and  casting  is  now  done  here, 
which  was  formerly  executed  at  Montreal,  to  the 
manifest  advantuge  of  the  province,  as  well  as  the 
town.  An''  1  have  been  assured,  not  only  here  but 
elsewhere,  that  the  work  turned  out  is  excellent — of 
the  first  order. 

In  the  jail  here,  a  wretched  maniac  is  confined  in 
chains  for  murdering  his  wife.  He  was  convicted, 
condemned  to  loath,  and  on  the  point  of  being 
hung ;  for  though  the  physician  believed  the  man 
mad,  he  could  not  prove  it  in  evidence  :  he  appeared 
rational  on  every  subject.  At  length,  after  his  con- 
demnation, the  physician,  holding  his  wrist,  repeated 
the  religious  Orange  toast — something  about  the 
Pope  and  the  devil ;  and  instantly,  as  he  expressed 
it,  the  mu.n'3  pulse  bounded  like  a  shot  under  his 
fingers,  and  he  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  frenzy.  He 
said  that  his  wife  had  been  possessed  by  the  seven 
deadly  sins,  and  he  had  merely  given  her  seven 
ki^ks  to  exorcise  her — and  thus  ho  murdered  the 
poor  woman.  He  has  been  in  the  jail  four  years, 
and  is  now  more  mad,  more  furious,  'han  when  first 
confined.     This  I  had  from  the  physician  himself. 

2L* 


(I! 


i 
^ 


m 


1  ii 


%.  -1  .•! 


'^•'y; 


m 


\;     it 
8      l: 


.illl 


•f 


i  I 


1^ 


J.  '.I 


I'   I  !  :  "  % 


'&:■  » 


24G 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


Before  qtitting  the  subject  of  Niagara,  I  may  aa 
well  mention  an  incident  which  occurred  shortly 
afterwards,  on  my  last. visit  to  the  town,  which  in- 
terested me  mucli  at  the  time,  and  threw  the  whole 
of  this  little  community  into  a  wonderful  ferment. 

A  black  man,  a  slave  somewhere  in  Kentucky, 
having  been  sent  on  a  message,  mounted  on  a  very 
valuable  horse,  seized  the  opportunity  of  escaping. 
He  reached  Buffalo  after  many  days  of  hard  riding, 
sold  the  horse,  ahd  escape'^  beyond  the  lines  into 
Canada.  Here,  as  in  all  the  British  dominions,  God 
be  praised  !  the  slave  is  slave  no  more,  but  free,  and 
protected  in  his  freedom.*  This  man  acknowledged 
that  he  had  not  been  ill  treated  ;  he  had  received 
some  education,  and  had  been  a  favorite  with  his 
master.  He  gave  as  a  reason  for  his  flight,  that  he 
had  long  wished  to  marry,  but  was  resolved  that 
his  children  should  not  be  born  slaves.  In  Canada, 
a  runaway  slave  is  assured  of  legal  protection  ;  but, 
by  an  international  compact  between  the  United 
States  and  our  provinces,  all  felons  are  mutually 
surrendered.  Against  this  young  man  the  jury  in 
Kentucky  had  found  a  true  bill  for  horse-stealing ; 
as  a  felon,  therefore,  he  was  pursued,  and,  on  the 
proper  legal  requisition,  arrested  ;  and  then  lodged 
in  the  jail  of  Niagara,  to  be  given  up  to  his  master, 
who,  with  an  American  constable,  was  in  readiness 


\ 


rf'-!  ; 


*  Among  the  .addresses  presented  to  Sir  Fvancis  Head,  in 
13?C,  vas  one  from  the  colored  inhabitants  of  this  part  of  the 
pr  ..  signed  by  four  hundred  and  thirty-one  individuals, 

rxK.-.    .  '■■  ihem  refugees  from  the  United  Slates,  or  their  descend- 
ants. 


STORY    OP    A    SLAVE. 


247 


ay  as 
lortly 
ch  in- 
whole 
ent. 
;ucky, 
X  very 
aping, 
riding, 
3S  into 
8,  God 
;e,  and 
lodged 
ceived 
ith  his 
hat  he 
id  that 
/anada, 
n  ;  but, 
United 
utually 
jury  in 
ealing ; 
on  the 
lodged 
master, 
adiness 

Head,  in 
art  of  the 
[Jividuals, 
descend- 


to  take  him  into  custcdy,  as  soon  as  the  government 
»  rder  should  arrive.     His  case  excited  a  strong  in- 
terest among  the  whites,  v.'hile  the  colored  popula- 
lation,  consisting  of  many  hundreds  in  the  districts 
of  Gore   and   Niagara,   chiefly  refugees  from  the 
States,  were  half  frantic  with  excitement.     They 
loudly  and  openly  declared  that  ihey  would  peril 
their  lives  to  prevent  his  being  carried  again  across 
the  frontiers,  and  surrendered  to  the  veugearice  of 
his  angry  master.     Meantime  there  was  some  delay 
about  legal  forms,  and  the  mayor  and  several  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  town,  united  in  a  petition  to  the 
governor  in  his  favor.     In  this  petition  it  was  ex- 
pressly mentioned  that  the  master  of  the  slave  had 
been  heard  to  avow  that  his  intention  was  not  to 
give  the  culprit  up  to  justice,  but  to  make  what  he 
called   an  example  of  him.     Now  there  had  been 
lately  some   frightful   instances  of  what   the  slave 
proprietors  of  the  south  called   "  making  an  exam- 
ple ;"   and  the  petitioners  entreated  the  governor 
to  interpose,  and   save  the  mnn  from   a  torturing 
death  "  under  the  lash  or  at  the  stake."     Probably 
the  governor's  own  humane  feelings  pleaded  even 
more  strongly  in  behalf  of  the  poor  fellow.     But  it 
was  a  case  in  which  he  could  not  act  from  feeling, 
or,  "  to  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong."      The 
law  was  too  expressly  and  distinctly  laid  down,  and 
his  duty  as  governor  was  clear  and  imperative — to 
give  up  the  felon,  although,  to  have  protected  the 
slave,  he  would,  if  necessary,  have  armed  the  pro- 
vince. 

In  the  mean  time  the  colored  people  assembled 


It  >l 
Si « is 

1  ' ' ' 


ill 


\  i.'^ 


«   ■  •  I: 


■■I     (, 


248 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


I      I 


i' 


from  the  adjacent  villages,  and  among  them  a  great 
number  of  tlieir  women.  The  conduct  of  this  black 
mob,  animated  and  even  directed  by  the  females, 
was  really  admirable  for  its  good  sense,  forbearance, 
and  resolution.  They  were  quite  unar  r.ed,  and  de- 
clared their  intention  not  to  commit  any  violence 
against  the  English  law.  The  culprit,  ihey  said, 
might  lie  in  the  jail,  till  they  could  raise  among 
them  the  price  of  the  horse ;  but  if  any  attempt 
were  made  to  take  him  from  the  prison,  and  send 
him  aross  to  Lewiston,  they  would  resist  it  at  the 
hazard  of  their  lives. 

The  filial  order  did  at  length  come  ;  the  sheriff 
with  a  party  of  constables  prepared  to  enforre  it. 
Tiie  blacks,  still  unarmed,  assembled  round  the  jail, 
and  waited  till  their  comrade,  or  their  brother  as  they 
called  him,  was  brought  out  and  placed  handcuffed 
in  a  cart.  They  then  threw  themselves  simultane- 
ously on  the  sheriff's  party,  and  a  dreadful  scuffle 
ensued  ;  the  artillery  men  from  the  little  fort,  our 
only  military,  were  called  in  aid  of  the  civil  authority, 
and  ordered  to  fire,  on  the  assailants.  Two  blacks 
were  killed,  and  two  or  three  wounded.  In  the 
melee  the  poor  slave  escaped,  and  has  not  since 
been  retaken,  neither  was  he,  I  believe,  pursued. 

But  it  was  the  conduct  of  the  women  which,  on 
this  occasion,  excited  the  strongest  surprise  and  in- 
terest. By  all  those  passionate  and  persuasive  ar- 
guments that  a  Avoman  knows  so  well  how  to  use, 
whatever  be  her  color,  country,  or  class,  they  had 
prevailed  on  theii  husbands,  brothers,  and  lovers, 
to  use  no  arms,  to  do  no  illegal  violence,  but  to  lose 


.■|i     ; 


STORY    OF    A    SLAVE. 


249 


\ 


their  lives  rather  than  see  their  comrade  taken  by 
force  across  the  lines.  They  had  been  most  active 
in  the  fray,  throwing  themselves  fearlessly  between 
the  black  men  and  the  whites,  who,  of  course,  shrank 
from  injuring  them.  One  woman  had  seized  the 
sheriff,  and  held  him  pinioned  in  her  arms  ;  another, 
on  one  of  the  artillery-men  presenting  his  piece, 
and  swearing  that  he  would  shoot  her  if  she  did  not 
get  out  of  his  way,  gave  him  only  one  glance  of  unut- 
terable contempt,  end  with  one  hand  knocking  up  his 
piece,  and  collaring  him  with  the  other,  held  him  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  prevent  his  firing.  I  was  curi- 
ous to  see  a  mulatto  woman  who  had  been  foremost 
in  the  fray,  and  whose  intelligence  and  influence  had 
mainly  contributed  to  the  success  of  her  people  ;  and 

young  Mr.  M ,  under  pretence  of  inquiring  after 

a  sick  child,  drove  me  round  to  the  hovel  in  which 
she  lived,  outside  the  town.  She  came  out  to  speak 
to  us.  She  was  a  fine  creature,  apparently  about 
five-and-twenty,  withakindly  animated  countenance  j 
but  the  feelings  of  exasperation  and  indignation  had 
evidently  not  yet  subsided.  She  told  us,  in  answer 
to  my  close  questioning,  that  she  had  formerly  been 
a  slave  in  Virginia ;  that,  so  far  from  being  ill-treat- 
ed, she  had  been  regarded  with  especial  kindness 
by  the  family  on  whose  estate  she  was  born.  When 
she  was  about  sixteen  her  master  died,  and  it  was 
said  that  all  the  slaves  on  the  estate  would  be  sold, 
and  therefore  she  ran  away.  "  Were  you  not  at- 
tached to  your  mistress  ]"  I  asked.  "  Yes,"  said 
she,  •*  1  liked  my  mistress,  but  I  did  not  like  to  be 
&old,"  I  asked  her  if  she  was  happy  here  in  Canada  t 


) '.!  !i 


I'r 


250 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  replied,  on  my 
repeating  the  question,  "  Yes — that  is,  I  was  happy 
here — but  now — I  don't  know — I  thouG[ht  we  were 
safe  here — I  thought  nothing  could  toucii  us  7icre,  on 
your  British  ground,  but  it  seems  I  was  mistaken, 
and  if  so  I  won't  stay  here — I  won't — I  won't ! 
I'll  go  and  find  some  country  where  they  cannot 
reach  us  !  I'll  go  to  the  end  of  the  world,  I  will  1" 
And  as  she  spoke,  her  black  eyes  flashing,  she  ex- 
tended her  arms,  and  folded  them  across  her  bosom, 
with  an  attitude  and  expression  of  resolute  dignity, 
which  a  painter  might  have  studied  ;  and  truly  the 
fairest  white  face  I  ever  looked  on  never  beamed 
with  more  of  soul  and  high  resolve  than  hers  at  that 
moment. 


t '^ 


.  I!      ir 


k 

■  .•. 

i 

\ } 

NIAGARA. 


251 


Between  the  town  of  Queenston  and  the  cataract 
of  Niagara  lies  the  pretty  village  of  Stamford,  (close 
to  Lundy  Lane,  the  site  of  a  famous  battle  in  the 
last  war,)  and  celebrated  for  its  fine  air.     Near  it  is 
a  beautiful  house  with  its  domain,  calV  d  Stamford 
Park,  built  and  laid  out  by  a   former  governor  (Sir 
Peregrine  Maitland.)     It  is  the  only  place  I  saw  in 
Upper  Canada  combining  our  ideas  of  an  elegant, 
well-furnished  English  villa  and  ornamented  grounds, 
with  some  of  the  grandest  and  wildest  featur^^'^   of 
the   forest   scene.      It    enchanted    me    altogt  ther. 
From  the  lawn   before  the   house,  an  open  glade, 
commanding  a  park-like  range  of  broken  and  undu- 
lating ground  and  wooded  valleys,  displayed  beyond 
them  the  wide  expanse  of  Lake  Ontario,  evev.  the 
Toronto  light-house,  at  a  distance  of  thirty  miles, 
being  frequently  visible  to  the  naked  eye.     By  the 
hostess  of  this  charming  seat  I  was  conveyed  in  a 
light  pony  carriage  to  the  hotel  at  the  Falls,  and  left, 
with  real  kindness,  to  follow  my  owr.  J'  vices.     The 
moment  I  was  alone,  I  hurried  down  to  the  Table- 
rock.     The  body  of  water  was  more  full  and  tre- 
mendous than  in  the  winter.  The  spray  rose,  densely 
falling  again   in    thick  showers,  and  behind  those 
rolling  volumes  of  vapor   the  last  gleams   of  the 
evening  light  shone  in  lurid  brightness,  amid  amber 
and  crimson  clouds ;  on  the  other  side,  night  was 
rapidly  coming  on,  and  all  was  black,  impenetrable 


(i;f 


ml 


iSS 


ill' 


!!, 


'.  Il 


^{■■f^.^ 


u 


252 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


gloom,  and  '*  boundless  contiguity  of  shade."  Tt 
was  very,  very  beautiful,  and  strangely  awful  too ! 
For  now  it  was  late,  and  as  I  stood  there,  lost  in  a 
thousand  reveries,  there  was  no  human  being  near, 
no  light  but  that  reflected  from  the  leaping,  whirling 
foam ;  and  in  spite  of  the  deep-voiced  continuous 
thunder  of  the  cataract,  there  was  such  a  stillness 
that  I  could  hear  my  own  heart's  pulse  throb — 
or  did  I  mistake  feeling  for  hearing  ?— so  I  strayed 
homewards,  or  housewards  I  should  say,  through 
the  leafy,  gloomy,  pathways — wet  with  the  spray 
and  fairly  tired  out. 


'•<    :!i  ^ 


Two  or  three  of  my  Toronto  friends  are  here,  and 
declare  against  ray  projects  of  solitude.     To-day  we 
had  a  beautiful  drive   to  Colonel  Delatre's.      We 
drove  along  the  road  above  the  Falls.     There  was 
the  wide  river  spreading  like  a  vast  Jake,  then  nar- 
rowing, then  boiling,  foaming  along  in  a  current  of 
eighteen  miles  an    hour,  till  it  swept  over  the  Cre- 
scent rock  in  a  sheet  of  emerald  green,  and  threw 
up  the  silver  clouds  of  spray  into  the  clear  blue  sky. 
The  fresh  luxurious  verdure  of  the  woods,  relieved 
against  the  dark  pine  forest,  added  to  the  beauty  of 
scene.     I  wished  more  than  ever  for  those  I  love 
most! — for  some  one  who  would  share  all  this  rap- 
ture of  admiration  and  delight,  without  the  necessity 
of  speaking — for  after  all,  what  are  words  ?     They 
express  nothing,  reveal  nothing,  avail  nothing.     So 
it  all  sinks  back  into  my  own  heart,  there  to  be  kept 


.4 


tHE    RAPIDS. 


253 


"I'l 


quiet.  After  a  pleasant  dinner  and  music,  I  return- 
ed to  the  hotel  by  the  light  of  a  full  moon,  beneath 
which  the  Falls  looked  magnificently  mysterious, 
part  glancing  silver  light,  and  part  dark  shadow, 
mingled  with  fleecy  folds  of  spray,  over  which  float- 
ed a  soft,  sleepy  gleam  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  this 
tremencK  us  velocity  of  motion  and  eternity  of  sound, 
there  was  a  deep,  deep  repose,  as  in  a  dream.  It 
impressed  me  for  the  time  like  something  superna- 
tural— a  vision,  not  a  reality. 


!i 


The  good  people,  travellers,  describers,  poets,  and 
others,  who  seem  to  have  hunted  through  the  dic- 
tionary for  words  in  which  to  depict  these  cataracts 
under  every  aspect,  have  never  said  enough  of  the 
rapids  above — even  for  which  reason,  perhaps,  they 
have  struck  me  the  more  j  not  that  any  words  in  any 
language  would  have  prepared  me  for  what  I  now 
feelin  this  wondrous  scene.  Standing  to-day  on  the 
banks  above  the  Crescent  Fall  near  Mr.  Street'a 
mill,  gazing  on  the  rapids,  they  left  in  my  fancy  two 
impressions  which  seldom  meet  together — that  of 
the  sublime  and  terrible,  and  that  of  the  elegant  and 
graceful — like  a  tiger  at  play.  I  could  not  withdraw 
my  eyes  ;  it  was  like  a  fascination. 

The  verge  of  the  rapids  is  considerably  above  the 
eye  ;  the  whole  mighty  river  comes  rushing  over  the 
brow  of  a  hill,  and  as  you  look  up,  it  seems  coming 
down  to  overwhelm  you.  Then  meeting  with  the 
rocks,  as  it  pours  down  the  declivity,  it  boils  and 

VOL.  I.  32 


ml 


■  ) 


254 


SUMMER  RAMBLES. 


i  I 


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if   ; 

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i. 

1 

frets  like  the  breakers  of  the  ocean.  Huge  mounds 
of  water,  smooth,  transparent  and  gleaming  like  the 
emerald,  or  rather  like  the  more  delicate  hue  of  the 
chrysopaz,  rise  up  and  bound  over  some  unseen 
impediment,  then  break  into  silver  foam,  which 
leaps  into  the  air  in  the  most  graceful  fantastic  forms; 
and  so  it  rushes  on,  whirling,  boiling,  dancing,  spark- 
ling along,  with  a  playful  impatience,  rather  than 
overwhelming  fury,  rejoicing  as  if  escaped  from 
bondage,  rather  than  raging  in  angry  might — wildly, 
magnificently  beautiful !  The  idea,  too,  of  the  im- 
mediate danger,  the  consciousness  that  any  thing 
caught  within  its  verge  is  inevitably  hurried  to  a 
swift  destination,  swallowed  up,  annihilated,  thrills 
the  blood ;  the  immensity  of  the  picture,  spreading 
a  mile  at  least  each  way,  and  framed  in  by  the  inter- 
minable forests,  adds  to  the  feeling  of  grandeur : 
while  the  giddy,  infinite  motion  of  the  headlong  wa- 
ters, dancing  and  leaping,  and  revelling  and  roaring, 
in  their  mad  glee,  gave  me  a  sensation  of  rapturous 
terror,  and  at  last  caused  a  tension  of  the  nerves 
in  my  head,  which  obliged  me  to  turn  away. 

The  great  ocean,  when  thus  agitated  by  conflict- 
ing winds  or  opposing  rocks,  is  a  more  tremendous 
thing,  but  it  is  merely  tremendous — it  makes  us 
think  of  our  prayers ;  whereas,  while  I  was  looking 
on  these  rapids,  beauty  and  terror,  power  and  joy, 
were  blended,  and  so  thoroughly,  that  even  while  I 
trembled  and  admired,  I  could  have  burst  into  a 
wild  laugh,  and  joined  the  dancing  billows  in  their 
glorious,  fearful  mirth — 


i» 


THE    RAPIDS. 


255 


.H^: 


Leaping  like  bacchanals  from  rock  to  rock, 
Flinging  the  frantic  Thyrsus  wild  and  high  I 

I  shall  never  see  again,  or  feel  again,  aught  like 
it— never !  I  did  not  think  there  w^as  an  object  in 
nature,  animate  or  inanimate,  that  could  thus  over- 
set me  now  ! 


m 


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I  HAVE  only  thiijo  books  with  me  here,  besides  the 
one  book  neetlful.  a.  J  find  them  sufficient  for  all  pur- 
poses— Shakspe.fe,  Schiller,  Wordsworth.  One 
morning,  being  utterly  disinclined  for  all  effort, 
either  of  conversation  or  movement,  I  wandered 
down  to  a  little  wild  bosquet  beyond  the  Table- 
rock,  not  very  accessible  to  dilettante  hunters  after 
the  picturesque,  and  just  where  the  waters,  ren- 
dered smooth  by  their  own  infinite  velocity,  were 
sweeping  by,  before  they  take  their  leap  into  the 
gulf  below  ; — there  I  sat  all  the  sultry  noontide — 
quiet,  among  the  birds  and  the  thick  foliage,  and 
read  through  Don  Carlos — one  of  the  finest  dramas 
in  the  world,  I  should  think. 

It  is  a  proof  of  the  profound  humanity  of  Schiller, 
that  in  this  play  one  must  needs  pity  King  Philip, 
though  it  is  in  truth  the  sort  of  pity  which  Saint 
Theresa  felt  for  the  devil  —one  pities  him  because  he 
is  the  devil.  The  pitiableness  and  the  misery  of 
wickedness  were  never  so  truly  and  so  pathetically 
demonstrated.  The  unfathomable  abyss  of  egotism 
in  the  character  turns  one  giddy  to  look  into. 

With  regard  to  Posa,  it  has  been  objected,  I  be- 
lieve— for  1  never  read  any  criticism  on  this  play — 
that  he  is  a  mere  abstraction,  or  rather  the  embodied 
mouthpiece  of  certain  abstract  ideas  of  policy  and 
religion  and  morals — those  of  Schiller  himself — and 
not  an  individual  human  being — in  short,  an  impossi- 


DON   CARLOS. 


257 


bility.   Yet,  why  so  'i    Perhaps  such  a  man  as  Posa 
never  did  exist; — but  why  impossible  ?    Can  a  man 
conceive  that  which  a  man  could  not  by  possibility 
be  ]     If  Schiller  were  great  enough  to  invent  such 
a  character,  is  not  humanity  great  enough  to  rea- 
lize it  ?     My  belief  is,  that  it  is  only  a  glorious  anti- 
cipation—that poets  in  some  sort  are  the  prophets  of 
perfection — that  Schiller  himself  might  have  been  a 
Posa,  and,  had  he  lived  a  century  or  two  hence, 
world  have  been   a  Posa.     Is  that  a  mere  abstrac- 
tion which  while  I  read,  makes  me  thrill,  tremble, 
exult,  and  burn,  and  on   the   stage   filled  my  eyes 
with  most  delicious  tears  1     Is  that  a  mere  abstrac- 
tion which,  excites  our  human   sympathies  in  the 
strongest,   highest   degree  1      Every  woman,   me- 
thinks,  would  like  a  Posa  for  a  lover — at  least,  if  I 
could  love,  it  would  be  such  a  man.     The  notion 
that  Posa  could  not  by  possibility  exist  in  the  courV, 
of  Philip   II.   appears  to  me  unfounded,  for  such  a 
court  would  be  just  the  place  where  such  a  charac- 
ter would  be  needed,  and  by  reaction  produced : 
ex'rnmes  meet.     Has  not   the   Austrian    court  in 
these  days,  produced  Count  Auersperg,  the  poet  of 
freedom,  who  has  devoted  his  whole  soul,  his  genius, 
and  his  gift  of  song,  to  the  cause  of  humanity  and 
liberty  1     Francis  the  First  and  Metternich,  and  the 
dungeons  of  the  Spielberg,  have  as  naturally  pro- 
duced an  Auersperg,  as  Philip  and  the  Autos-da-Fe 
in  Flanders  might  have  produced  a  Posa. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  moral  unity  and  consis- 
tency of  the  character  of  Posa  is  violated  by  that 
lie    which  he  tells   to    save    the    life   of  Carlos. 

90* 


['■  i 


i  I  ji  .1  i 


m 


m 
'till 

i 


m 


m 


.■Vi 


258 


Si;:*IMER    RAMBLES. 


i     .      .?i, 


v!      ', 


fll<   P 


f  Si' 


if. 


Posa  13  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  falsehood ;  the 
existence  and  honor  of  Carlos  are  about  to  be  sacri- 
ficed by  0  lie,  and  Posa,  by  another  lie,  drawr.  iLe 
vengeance  of  the  i'ing  upon  himself; 

Magnaiiima  menzogna!  or  quando  ?>.  il  v^ro 
Si  hello,  die  si  |.ossa  a  te  prcporrcl 

' — But  the  effect  of  this  "  magnanimous"  falsehood 
is  like  that  of  all  falsehood,  evii.  This  one  devia- 
tion from  the  clear  sfraioht  line  of  truth  not  only 
fails  of  its  purpose.  buL  plunges  Carlos,  ihe  queen, 
and  J'osi  iiimsclf,  in  the  same  abyss  of  (lestruci"'0i>. 

It  V  >j:-,  the  opinioT-  of ,  with  whom  I  read 

this  play  m  Gcfmaiiy,  that  the  queen  (Elizabeth  of 
France  Pi  lUp's  second  wife)  is  a  character  not  de- 
tined,  nat  easily  vniderstood — thas  there  is  a  myste- 
ry about  her  intended  by  the  author.  I  t!o  not  see 
the  character  in  this  point  of  view.  It  does  not 
seem  to  me  that  Schiller  meant  her  to  beanv  thincr 
but  what  she  appears.  There  is  no  masii  here, 
conscious  or  unconscious ;  in  such  a  raind  her  lovo 
for  Don  Carlos  is  not  a  feeling  combated,  struggled 
"with,  but  put  out  of  her  mind  altogether,  as  a  thing 
which  ought  not  to  be  thought  of,  ought  not  to  ex- 
ist, and  therefore  ceases  to  exist ; — a  tender,  per- 
fectly pure  interest  in  the  happiness  and  the  fate  of 
Don  Carlos  remains ;  but  this  is  all;  she  does  not 
cheat  herself  nor  us  with  verbal  virtue.  The  cloud- 
less, transparent,  crystalline  purity  of  the  character 
is  its  greatest  charm,  it  will  be  said  perhaps,  that  if 
we  see  the  icholc  —if  there  be  indeed  nothing  veiled, 
beyond  or  beneath  what  is  visible  and  spoken,  then 
it  is  shallow.     Not   so — but,  like  perfectly   limpid 


DON    CARLOS. 


S59 


water,  it  seems  shallower  than  it  is.     The  mind  of 
a  woman,  which  should  be  wholly  pure,  simple,  and 
true,  would   produce  this  illusion  :  we  see  at  once 
to  the  bottom,  whether   it   be    shining   pebble  or 
golden  sands,  and  do  not  perceive  the  true  depth  till 
we  try,  and  are  made  to  feel  and  know  it  by  getting 
beyon'l  our  own  depth  before  we  are  aware.     Such 
u  c'lO'irter  is  that  of  Elizabeth  of  France.     The 
man.    i  in  which  she  rebukes  the  passionate  ravings 
of  Carlos— the  self-confiding  simplicity — the  dig- 
nity without  assumption — the  virtue,  so  clothed  in 
innocence  as  to  be  ahnost  unconscious  —  all  is  most 
beautiful,  and  would   certainly  lose  its  charm  the 
moment  we  doubted  its  trutli — the  moment  we  sus- 
pected that  the  queen  was  acting  a  forced  or  a  con- 
scious part,  however  virtuous.     The  scene  in  which 
Elizabetn   repels   the  temptation  of  the   Duke  of 
Alva  and  the  monk  might  be  well  contrasted  with 
the  similar  scene   between    Catherine  of  Arragon 
and  the  two  cardinals  in  Shakspeare.     Elizabeth 
has  a  passive,  graceful,  uncontending  pride  of  vir- 
tue, which  does  not  assert  itself,  only  guards  itself. 
Her  genuine  admiration  of  Posa,  and  the  manner  in 
which,  in  the  last  scene,  you  see  the  whole  soft, 
feminine  being,  made  up  of  affections,  tears,  and 
devotion,  develope  itself  to  be  caught  and  crushed 
as  in  an  iron  vice,  renders  this  delineation,  delicate 
as  it  is  in  the  conception,  and   subordinate  in  inte- 
rest, one  of  the  finest  I  have  met  with  out  of  Shak- 
speare, and  comparable  only  to  his  Hermionein  the 
beauty  and  singleness  of  the  conception. 

y/hen  I  saw  Don  Carlos  performed  at  Vienna,, 


■'(• 


,1 


it' 


ir 


260 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


<  I 


<f 


with  a  perfection  and  ensemble  of  which  our  stage 
affords  few  examples,  it  left,  as  a  work  of  art,  an 
impression  of  a  moral  kind,  at  once  delightful  and 
elevating,  whi.  n  I  cannot  easily  forget.  I  was 
never  more  touch  ,^,  more  excited,  by  any  dramatic 
representation  that  I  can  remember.  Korn,  allow- 
ed to  be  one  of  their  finest  actors,  played  Posa 
magnificently  ;  and  it  seemed  to  be  no  slight  pri- 
vilege to  tread  the  stage  butforthree  hours,  clothed  in 
such  god-like  attributes — to  utter,  in  words  eloquent 
as  music,  the  sentiments  of  a  man — sentiments  and 
aspirations  that,  in  every  thrilling  heart,  found  at 
least  a  silent  echo — sentiments  which,  if  uttered  or 
written  off*  the  stage,  would  have  brought  down 
upon  him  the  surveillance  of  the  secret  police,  or 
the  ban  of  the  censor, 

Fichtner  played  Don  Carlos  with  impassioned 
youthful  sensibility ;  and  though  I  heard  it  objected 
by  the  Princess  H ,  that  he  had  not  suffi- 
ciently Vair  noble,  it  did  not  strike  me.  Karl  La 
Roche,  an  actor  formed  under  Goethe's  tuition,  in 
the  golden  age  of  the  Weimar  theatre,  played  Phi- 
lip II.,  and  looked,  and  dressed,  and  acted  the  cha- 
racter with  terrible  and  artist-like  fidelity.  Made- 
moiselle Fournier,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women 
I  ever  beheld,  and  a  clever  actress,  v^^as  admirable 
in  the  Princess  Eboli.  Mademoiselle  Peche,  also  a 
good  actress,  failed  in  the  queen,  as  at  the  time  I  felt 
rather  than  thought,  for  I  had  not  well  considered 
the  character.  She  embodied  too  formally,  per- 
haps intentionally,  the  idea  of  something  repressed 
and  concealed   with   effort,  which  I  do  not  find  in 


}^^- 


■'  \ 


?iIAGARA. 


261 


Schiller's  Elizabeth.  On  this  representation  occur- 
red an  incident  worth  noting.  The  old  Emperor 
Francis  v,  is  present  in  his  box,  looking,  as  usual, 
very  heavy-headed  and  attentive  ;  it  was  about  a 
month  or  six  weeks  before  his  death.  In  the  scene 
where  Posa  expostulates  with  King  Philip,  pleads 
eloquently  for  toleration  and  liberty,  and  at  length, 
throwing  himself  at  his  feet,  exclaims,  '*  Geben  Sie 
uns  Gedankenfreiheit !"  the  audience,  that  is,  the 
parterre,  applauded;  and  there  were  around  me, 
cries, not  loud  but  deep,  of  "Bravo,  Schiller!"  After 
this  the  performance  of  Don  Carlos  was  forbidden, 
and  it  was  not  given  again  while  I  was  at  Vienna. 


This  I  write  for  your  edification  before  I  go  to 
rest,  after  a  day  of  much  quiet  enjoyment  and  luxu- 
rious indolence.  The  orb  of  the  moon  new  risen 
is  now  suspended  upon  the  very  verge  of  the 
American  fall,  just  opposite  to  my  balcony;  the 
foam  of  the  rapids  shines  beneath  her  in  dazzling, 
shifting,  fantastic  figures  of  frosted  silver,  while  the 
downward  perpendicular  leap  of  the  waters  is 
almost  lost  to  view — all  my!.'terious  tumult  and 
shadow. 


'■III 

'■Rt'  i 


mi] 


Accompanied  the  family  of  Colonel  Delatre  to 
the  American  side,  and  dined  on  Goat  Island. 
Though  the  various  views  of  the  two  cataracts  be 
here  wonderfully  grand  and  beautiful,  and  the 
bridge  across  the  rapids  a  sort  of   miracle,  as  they 


1 


n 


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il. 


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hi 


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lini 
I'Hi 
■'Mi    !t; 


It 

;^ 

1 

fur 

•      : 

1^ 

'', 

;    ■ 

'1 

> 

1     '. ' 

262 


SUMMER    UAMBLES. 


say,  Still  it  is  not  altogether  to  be  compared  to  the 
Canadian  shore  for  picturesque  scenery.  The 
Americans  have  disfigured  their  share  of  the  rapids 
with  mills  and  manufactories,  and  horrid  red  brick 
houses,  and  other  unacceptable,  unseasonable  sights 
and  signs  of  sordid  industry.  Worse  than  all  is 
the  round  tower,  which  some  profane  wretch  has 
erected  on  the  Crescent  Fall ;  it  stands  there  so  de- 
testably impudent  and  mal-Apropos — it  is  such  a 
signal  yet  puny  monument  of  bad  taste — so  misera- 
bly mesquin,  and  so  presumptuous,  that  I  do  hope 
the  violated  majesty  of  nature  will  take  the  matter 
in  hand,  and  overwhelm  or  cast  it  down  the  preci- 
pice one  of  these  fine  days,  though  indeed  a  barrel 
of  gunpowder  were  a  shorter  if  not  a  surer  method. 
Can  you  not  send  us  out  some  Cxuy  Faux,  heroically 
ready  to  be  victimized  in  the  great  cause  of  insulted 
nature,  and  no  less  insulted  art? — But  not  to  tire 
you  with  descriptions  of  precipices,  cares,  rocks, 
woods,  and  rushing  waters,  which  I  can  buy  here 
ready  made  for  sixpence,  1  will  only  teli  you  that 
our  party  was  very  pleasant. 

Colonel  Delatre  is  a  veteran  officer,  who  has  pur- 
chased a  fine  lot  of  land  the  neighborhood,  has 
settled  on  it  with  a  very  interesting  family,  and  is 
cultivating  it  with  great  enthusiasm  and  success. 
He  served  for  twenty  years  in  India,  chiefly  in  the 
island  of  Ceylon,  and  was  present  at  the  capture  of 
that  amiable  despot,  the  king  of  Candy — he  who 
had  such  a  penchant  for  pounding  his  subjects  in  a 
mortar.  He  gave  me  some  anecdotes  of  this  savage 
war,     and    of    Oriental    life,    which     were     very 


NIAGAUA. 


263 


amusing.  After  answering  some  questions  re- 
lative to  the  condition  of  the  European  women  in 
Ceylon,  and  the  manners  and  morals  of  the  native 
women,  Colonel  Delatre  said,  with  unaffected 
warmth,  *'  I  have  seen  much  hard  service  in  differ- 
ent climates,  much  of  human  nature  in  savage  and 
civilized  life,  in  the  east  and  in  the  west,  and  all  I 
have  seen  has  raised  your  sex  generally  in  my  esti- 
mation. It  is  no  idle  compliment — I  speak  from 
my  heart.  I  have  the  very  highest  idea  of  the 
worth  and  capabilities  of  women,  founded  on  expe- 
rience, but,  I  must  say,  the  highest  pity  too !  You 
are  all  in  a  false  position  ;  in  England,  in  Ceylon, 
in  America— every  where  I  have  found  women  alike 
in  essentials,  and  alike  ill  treated,  in  one  way  or  in 
another  1" 

The  people  who  have  spoken  or  written  of  these 
Falls  of  Niagara,  have  surely  never  done  justice  to 
their  loveliness,  their  inexpressible,  inconceivable 
beauty.  The  feeling  of  their  beauty  has  become 
with  me  a  deeper  feeling  than  that  of  their  sub- 
limity. What  a  scene  this  evening !  What  splen- 
dor of  color !  The  emerald  and  chrysopaz  of  the 
transparent  waters,  the  dazzling  gleam  of  the  foam, 
and  the  snow-white  vapor  on  which  was  displayed 
the  most  perfect  and  gigantic  iris  I  ever  beheld — 
forming  not  a  half,  but  at  least  two-thirds  of  an  en- 
tire circle,  one  extremity  resting  on  the  lesser  (or 
American)  Fall,  the  other  in  the  very  lap  of  the 
Crescent  Fall,  spanning  perhaps  half  a  mile,  per- 
fectly resplendent  in  hue— so  gorgeous,  so  vivid, 
and  yet  so  ethereally  delicate,  and  apparently  with- 


yi 


V  „  ii 


III 


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)ii 


m 


Ki, 


i: 


264 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


in  a  few  feet  of  the  eye  ;  the  vapors  rising  into  the 
blue  heavens  at  least  four  humlred  feet,  three  times 
the  height  of  the  Falls,  and  tinted  rose  and  amber 
with  the  evening  sun  ;  and  over  the  woods  around 
every  possible  variety  of  the  richest  foliage — no, 
nothing  was  ever  so  transendently  lovely  !  The 
effect,  too,  was  so  grandly  uniform  in  its  eternal 
sound  and  movement,  it  was  quite  different  from 
that  of  those  wild,  impatient,  tumultuous  rapids. 
It  soothed,  it  melted,  it  composed,  rather  than  ex- 
cited. 

There  are  no  water- fowl  now  as  in  the  winter — 
when  driven  from  the  ice-bound  shores  and  shallows 
of  the  lake,  they  came  up  here  to  seek  their  food, 
and  sported  and  wheeled  amid  the  showers  of 
spray.  They  have  returned  to  their  old  quiet 
haunts ;  sometimes  I  miss  them  :  they  were  a  beau- 
tiful variety  in  the  picture. 

How  I  wish  for  those  I  love  to  enjoy  all  this  with 
me  !  I  am  not  enough  in  myself  to  feel  it  all.  I 
cannot  suffice  for  it  all,  without  some  sympathy  to 
carry  off  this  "  superflji  d'ame  et  de  vie  ;"  it  over- 
whelms, it  pains  me.  Why  should  T  not  go  tlown 
now  to  the  Table-rock  or  to  the  river's  brink  below 
the  Falls — now  when  all  is  still  and  solitary,  and 
the  rich  moonlight  is  blending  heaven  and  earth, 
and  the  vapors,  and  woods,  and  waters,  in  shadowy 
splendor  ?  All  else  in  nature  sleeps — all  but  those 
ever-bounding  and  rejoicing  waters,  still  holding  on 
their  way,  ceaseless,  exhaustless,  without  pause  or 
rest.  I  look  out  with  longing  and  wakeful  eye, 
but  it  is  midnight,  and  1  am  alone  ;  and  if  I  do  not 


\  '  f- 


nto  the 
o  times 

amber 
around 
re — no, 
!  The 
eternal 
nt  from 

rapids, 
ban  ex- 

/intcr — 
hallows 
?ir  food, 
wers  of 
d  quiet 
a  beau- 

bis  with 

t  all.     I 

alhy  to 

it  over- 

0  down 
c  below 
ry,  and 

1  earth, 

hadowy 

ut  those 

ding  on 

ause  or 

ul  eye, 

'.  do  not 


A    DREAM. 


265 


feel  fear,  I  feel  at  least  the  want  of  a  supporting 
arm,  the  want  of  a  sustaining  heart.  So  to  bed,  to 
be  hushed  to  slumber  by  that  tremendous  lullaby. 


A   DREAM. 

Very  significant,  poetical,  allegorical  dreams  have 
often  been  invented  or  dreamt  with  open  eyes ; 
but  once  I  had  a  singular  dream,  which  was  a  real 
dream  of  sleep — such  a  one  as,  if  I  had  lived  in  the 
days  of  Pharaoh  or  Nebuchadnezzar,  I  should  have 
sent  for  the  nearest  magician  or  prophet  to  interpret. 
I  remember  no  vision  of  the  night  which  ever  left 
on  my  waking  fancy  so  strong,  so  vivid  an  impres- 
sion ;  but  unfortunately  the  beginning  and  the  end 
of  the  vision  faded  before  1  could  collect  the  whole 
in  my  remembrance. 

I  had  been  reading  over,  late  in  the  evening,  Stern- 
berg's Uerr  von  Mondshein,  and  in  sleep  the  im- 
pression continued.  I  drep.med  I  was  reading  a 
volume  of  German  tales,  and  as  I  read,  it  seemed 
as  if,  by  a  strange,  dream-like,  double  power  of  per- 
ception, not  only  the  words  before  me,  but  the  forms 
and  feelings  they  expressed,  became  visible  and 
palpable  to  sense.  What  I  read  seemed  to  act  it- 
self before  my  eyes.  It  was  a  long  history,  full  of 
fantastic  shapes  and  perplexing  changes,  and  things 
that  seemed  and  were  not ;  but,  finally,  one  image 
predominated  and  dwelt  on  ray  memory  clearly  and 
distinctly,  even  long  after  I  waked.  It  was  that  of 
a  Being,  I  know  not  of  what  nature  or  sex,  which 

TOL.   I.  23 


1 

i 

V4 

li 

■J: 

f 

(.j, 

I 

ii 

ii^ 

1 

J 

m 


i 


h  !'■  t, 


266 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


,1  '■ 


r:!  . 


h^i 


ni^ 


iP] 


went  up  and  down  upon  our  world  lamenting — for  it 
loved  all  things,  suffered  with  all  things, sympathized 
with  all  things  ;  and  a  crowd  of  all  sentient  creature* 
followed — men,  women,  and  children,  and  animals — 
a  mournful  throng. 

And  the  Being  I  have  mentioned  looked  round 
upon  them,  and  feeling  in  itself  all  their  miseries, 
desires,  and  wants,  wept  and  wrung  its  hands. 

And  at  length  a  wish  arose  in  the  heart  of  that 
Being  to  escape  from  the  sight  of  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing which  it  could  share  and  not  alleviate  ;  and  with 
this  wish  it  looked  up  for  a  moment  towards  heaven, 
and  a  cup  was  held  forth  by  a  heavenly  hand — a 
charmed  cup,  by  which  the  secret  wish  was  fulfilled, 
and  the  Being  drank  of  this  cup. 

And  then,  1  know  not  how,  all  things  changed. 
And  I  saw  the  same  Being  standing  upon  a  high 
altar,  in  an  illuminated  temple.  The  garments 
were  floating  in  light.  The  arms  were  extended 
towards  heaven  ;  the  eyes  ever  upwards  turned ; 
but  there  was  no  hope  or  rapture  in  those  eyes  ;  on 
the  contrary,  they  were  melancholy,  and  swimming 
in  tears.  And  around  the  altar  was  the  same  crowd 
of  all  human  and  sentient  beings,  and  they  looked 
up  constantly  with  clasped  hands,  and  with  a  sad 
and  anxious  gaze,  imploring  one  of  those  looks  of 
sympathy  and  tenderness  to  which  they  had  been 
accustomed — but  in  vain. 

And  I  looked  into  the  heart  of  that  Being  which 
BtO(  d  alone  upon  the  altar,  and  it  was  also  sad,  and 
full  of  regret  and  love  towards  the  earth,  and  vain 
longing  to  look  down  once  more  on  those  creatures ". 


—for  it 
ithized 
jalures 
mala — 

round 
iseries, 
s. 
of  that 

sufier- 
tid  with 
iieaven, 
and — a 
ulfilled, 

langed. 

1  a  high 

irments 

ctcnded 

turned ; 

^es  ;   on 

imming 

3  crowd 

looked 

h  a  sad 

ooks  of 

id  been 

g  which 
;ad,  and 
md  vain 
2ature8 ; 


NIAGARA. 


267 


but  the  consecrating  spell  was  too  strong  ;  the  eyes 
remained  ever  directed  towards  heaven,  and  the 
arms  were  extended  upwards  ;  and  the  bond  which 
had  united  the  sympathizing  with  the  suffering 
heart  was  broken  for  ever. 

I  do  not  mean  to  tell  you  that  I  dreamed  all  this 
to  the  sound  of  the  Falls  of  Niagara  ;  but  I  do  aver 
that  it  was  a  real  bona  Jidc  dream.  Send  me  now 
the  interpretation  thereof — or  look  to  be  sphinx-de- 
voured. 


June  18. 

Returned  from  Stamford  Park,  where  I  spent  a 
few  days  rather  agreeably,  for  there  were  books, 
music  and  mirth  within,  though  a  perpetual  storm 
raged  without. 

«  *  *  « 

The  distance  from  the  Falls  is  four  miles,  and  the 
hollow  roar  of  the  cataract  not  only  sounded  all 
night  in  my  ears,  but  violently  shook  doors  and 
windows.  The  very  walls  seemed  to  vibrate  to  the 
sound. 

I  came  back  to  the  Clifton  Hotel,  to  find  my  beau- 
tiful Falls  quite  spoiled  and  discolored.  Instead  of 
the  soft  aquamarine  hue,  relieved  with  purest  white, 
a  dull  dirty  brown  now  imbued  the  waters.  This  ia 
owing  to  the  shallowness  of  Lake  Erie,  where  every 
storm  turns  up  the  muddy  bed  from  the  bottom,  and 
discolors  the   whole  river.     The  spray,  instead  of 


\  :.' 


268 


SUMMER    RAMBLES; 


hovering  in  light  clouds  round  and  above  the  cata- 
racts, was  beaten  down, and  rolled  in  volumes  round 
their  base;  then  by  the  gusty  winds  driven  along 
the  surface  of  the  river  hither  and  thither,  covering 
every  thing  in  the  neighborhood  with  a  small  rain. 
I  sat  down  to  draw,  and  in  a  moment  the  paper  was 
wet  through.  It  is  as  if  all  had  been  metamor- 
phosed during  my  absence — and  I  feel  very  discon- 
solate. 


There  are,  certainly,  two  ways  of  contemplating 
the  sublime  and  beautiful.  I  remember  one  day,  .is  I 
was  standing  on  the  Table-rock,  feeling  very  poeti- 
cal, an  Irishman  behind  me  suddenly  exclaimed,  in 
a  most  cordial  brogue,  and  an  accent  of  genuine 
admiration — "Faith,  then,  that's  a  pretty  daceut 
dhrop  o'  water  that's  coming  over  there  !" 


&^ 


I    ,; 


NIAGARA. 


269 


June  19. 

That  you  may  have  some  understanding  of  mj 
whereabouts,  my  outgoings,  and  my  incomings,  I  in- 
tend this  to  be  a  chapter  on  localities  ;  ard  putting 
poetry  and  description  far  from  me,  1  now  writ* 
you  a  common  sensible  lecture  on  topography  anc 
geography.  It  is  no  unpardonable  offence,  1  hope, 
to  suppose  you  as  ignorant  as  I  was  myself,  till  I 
came  here. 

Perhaps  even  for  my  sake  you  may  now  and  then 
look  upon  a  map  of  Canada,  and  there,  as  in  the 
maps  of  Russia  in  Catharine  the  Second's  time,  you 
will  find  not  a  few  towns  and  cities  laid  down  by 
name  which  you  might  in  vain  look  for  within 
the  precincts  of  the  province,  seeing  that  they  are 
non-extant,  as  yet,  at  least,  though  full  surely  to  be, 
some  time  or  other,  somewhere  or  other,  when  this 
fair  country  shall  have  fair  play,  and  hi:  f.ir  quota  of 
population.  But  from  this  anticipation  I  would  wil- 
lingly except  a  certain  City  of  the  Falls  which  I 
have  seen  marked  on  so  many  mrr>s,  and  mentioned 
in  so  many  books,  as  already  laid  out  and  com- 
menced, that  I  had  no  doubt  of  its  existence  till  I 
came  here  for  the  first  time  last  winter.  But  here 
it  is  not — Grazie  a  Dio  f — nor  likely  to  be,  as  far  as  I 
can  judge,  for  a  century  to  come.  Were  a  city  to 
rise  here,  it  would  necessarily  become  a  manufactur- 
ing place,  because  of  the  "  water  powers  and  privi- 

23* 


I 


H 


sit  I 


Il^f 

''if 

mmM: 

'I 


270 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


leges,"  below  and  above  the  cataract,  which  would 
then  be  turned  to  account.  Fancy,  if  you  can,  a 
range  of  cotton  factories,  iron  foundries,  grist  mills, 
saw  mills,  where  now  the  mighty  waters  rush  along 
in  glee  and  liberty — where  the  maple  and  tiie  pine 
woods  now  bend  and  wave  along  the  heights.  Sure- 
ly tl;?y  have  done  enough  already  with  their  wooden 
hotels,  museums,  and  curiosity  stalls:  neither  in 
such  a  case  were  red  brick  tenements,  gas-lights, 
and  smoky  chimneys,  the  worst  abomination  to  be 
feared.  There  would  be  a  moral  pollution  b-ought 
into  this  majestic  scene,  far  more  degrading;  more 
than  all  those  rushing  waters,  with  their  "thirteen 
millions  of  tons  per  minute,"  could  wash  away. 

Let  us  pray  against  such  a  desecration.  In  the 
mean  time  can  you  tell  me  who  wps  the  first  white 
man  whose  eyes  beheld  thi;  wf  Jer  of  the  earth? 
He  was  a  Frenchman,  but  rowherc  do  I  find  record 
of  his  name,  nor  of  ^he  impr-^^sions  which  such  a 
discovery  would  make  on  any,  oven  the  most  vulgar 
and  insensible  nature. 

In  former  seasons,  the  two  hotels  have  been 
full  to  overflowing.  They  tell  me  here  that  last 
summer  one  hundred  and  fifty  persons  sat  down 
almost  daily  to  dinner  ;  the  far  greater  number 
were  travellers  and  visiters  from  the  United  States. 
This  year,  owing  to  the  commercial  embarrassments 
of  that  country,  there  are  so  few  visiters,  that  one 
hotel  (Forsyth's)  is  closed,  and  the  other  (Clifton 
House)  is  nearly  empty,  to  the  serious  loss,  I  fear, 
of  the  poor  people,  but  to  myself  individually  an 


hi' 


If  m 

m 


it  ^ 


NIAGARA   DISTRICT. 


271 


unspeakable  comfort — for  thus  I  wander  about  and 
drive  about  in  full  liberty  and  loneliness. 

The  whole  of  this  district  between  the  two  great 
lakes  is  sujierlatively  beautiful,  and  wa^  Mie  first 
settled  district  in  Upper  Canad;)  ;  it  is  now  the  b  \5t 
cultivated.  The  population  is  larger  in  proportion 
to  its  extent  than  tliat  of  any  other  district.  In 
Niagara,  and  in  the  neighl)oring  district  of  Gore, 
many  fruits  come  to  perfection,  which  are  not 
found  to  thrive  in  other  parts  of  the  province,  and 
cargoes  of  fruit  are  sent  yearly  to  the  cities  of 
Lower  Canada,  where  the  climate  is  much  more 
severe  and  the  winter  longer  than  with  us. 

On  the  other  side  the  country  is  far  less  be  utiful 
and  they  say  less  fertile,  but  rich  in  activity  and 
m  population  ;  and  there  are  within  he  same  space 
at  least  half  a  dozen  flourishing  towns.  Our  specu- 
lating energetic  Yankee  neighbors,  not  satisfied 
with  their  Manchester,  their  manufactories,  and 
their  furnaces,  and  their  mill  "  privileges,"  have 
opened  a  railroad  from  Lewiston  to  Buff  lo,  thus 
connecting  Lake  Erie  with  the  Erie  Canal.  Ori 
our  side,  we  have  the  Welland  Canal,  a  magnificent 
work,  of  which  the  province  is  justly  proud  ;  it 
unites  Lake  Erie  with  Lake  Ontario. 

Yet  from  the  Falls  all  along  the  shores  of  the 
Lake  Erie  to  the  Grand  Ilivor  and  far  beyond  it, 
the  only  place  we  have  approaching  to  a  town  is 
Chippewa,  just  above  the  rapids,  as  yet  a  small 
village,  but  lying  immediately  in  the  road  from  the 
Western  States  to  the  Falls.  From  Buffalo  to  this 
place  the  Americans  run  a  steamboat  daily ;  they 


!■  ¥' 


1 


m 

■i  'I 


27a 


SUMMER    RAM3L£S. 


I   .1 


i 


f  b' 


[0  n 


if 


have  also  planned  a  suspension  bridge  across  the 
Niagara  river,  between  Lewiston  and  Queenston. 
Another  village,  Dunnville,  on  the  Grand  River, 
is  likely  to  be  the  commercial  dcpdt  of  that  part  of 
the  province  ;  it  is  situated  where  the  Welland 
Canal  joins  Lake  Erie. 

As  *he  weather  continued  damp  and  gloomy, 
without  hope  of  change,  a  sudden  whim  seized  me 
to  go  to  Buffalo  for  a  day  or  two ;  so  I  crossed  the 
turbulent  ferry  to  Manchester,  and  thence  an  en- 
gine, snorting,  shrieking  like  fifty  tortured  animals, 
conveyed  us  to  Tonawando,*  once  a  little  village  of 
Seneca  Indians,  now  rising  into  a  town  of  some  size 
and  importance ;  and  there  to  my  great  delight  I 
encountered  once  more  ray  new  friends,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  MacMurray,  who  were  on  their  return  from 
Toronto  to  the  Sault  St.  Marie.  We  proceeded  on 
to  Buffalo  together,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  day 
had  some  pleasant  opportunities  of  improving  our 
acquaintance. 

Buffalo,  as  all  travel-books  will  tell  you,  is  a  very 
fine  young  city,  about  ten  years  old,  and  containing 
already  about  twenty  thousand  inhabitants.  There 
is  here  the  largest  and  most  splendid  hotel  I  have 
ever  seen,  except  at  Frankfort.  Long  rows  of  mag- 
nificent houses — not  of  painted  wood,  but  of  brick 
and  stone — are  risinf'  on  every  side. 

The  season  is  unusually  dul?  and  dead,  and  I  hear 


*  Near  this  place  lived  and  died  iVic  chief  Red-jacket,  one  of 
the  lust  and  greatest  specimcnb  of  the  Indian  patriot  and 
warrior. 


BUFFALO. 


273 


nothing  but  complaints  around  me  ;  but  compared 
to  our  sleepy  Canadian  shore,  where  a  lethargic 
spell  seems  to  bind  up  the  energies  of  the  people, 
all  here  is  bustle,  animation,  activity.  In  the  port 
I  counted  about  fifty  vessels,  sloops,  schooners, 
and  steam-boats  ;  the  crowds  of  people  buying,  sell' 
jng,  talking,  bav/ling ;  the  Indians  lounging  by  in 
their  blankets,  the  men  looking  so  dark,  and  indif- 
ferent, and  lazy  ;  the  women  so  busy,  care-worn, 
and  eager  ;  and  the  quantities  of  sturdy  chil- 
dren, squalling,  frisking  among  the  feet  of  busy 
sailors — formed  altogether  a  strange  and  amusing 
scene. 

On  board  the  Michigan  steamer,  then  lying  ready 
for  her  voyage  up  the  lakes  to  Chicago,  I  found  all 
the  arrangements  magnificent  to  a  degree  I  could 
not  have  anticipated.  This  is  one  of  the  three 
great  steam-boats  navigating  the  Upper  Lakes, 
which  are  from  five  to  seven  hundred  tons  burthen, 
and  there  are  nearly  forty  smaller  ones  coasting 
Lake  Erie,  between  Buffalo  and  Detroit,  besides 
schooners.  We  have  (in  1837)  on  this  lake  two 
little  ill-constructed  steamers,  which  go  puffing  up 
and  down  like  two  little  tea-kettles,  in  proportion 
to  the  gigantic  American  boats;  and  unfortunately, 
till  our  side  of  the  lake  is  better  peopled  and  culti- 
vated, we  have  no  want  of  them.  When  they  are 
required,  they  will  exist,  as  on  Lake  Ontario,  where 
we  have,  I  believe,  eight  or  ten  steamers. 

I  found  here  several  good  booksellers'  shops,  the 
counters  and  shelves  loaded  with  cheap  American 
editions  of  English   publications,   generally   of    o, 


^'4<« 


•H-'* 


il  \ 


^\  ►>>..■ 


274 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


trashy  kind,  but  some  good  ones  ;  and  it  is  not  a 
pleasing  fact  that  our  two  booksellers  at  Toronto 
are  principally  supplied  from  this  place.  When  I 
wanted  a  book  at  Toronto  which  was  not  forthcom- 
ing, the  usual  answer  was,  "  that  it  would  be  sent 
for  from  Buffalo."  The  clothing  and  millinery  shops 
were  the  best  and  gayest  in  appearance.  In  the 
window  of  one  of  the  largest  of  these  I  saw  writ- 
ten up  in  large  letters,  "  Walk  in,  and  name  your 
price  !"  Over  the  door  of  another  was  inscribed, 
"Book  and  bandbox  store"  I  marvelled  what 
could  bring  "^hese  apparently  heterogeneous  articles 
into  such  close  emulation  and  juxtaposition,  till  I 
remembered — that  both  are  made  of  paper. 

The  MacMurrays,  with  their  beautiful  infant  and 
his  Indian  nurse,  embarked  on  board  the  Michigan, 
and  I  parted  from  them  with  regret,  for  Mrs.  Mac- 
Murray  had  won  upon  me  more  and  more  with  her 
soft  voice  and  her  benign  eyes,  and  her  maternaj 
anxieties. 

I  wag  now  again  alone,  in  a  vast  inn,  swarming 
with  dirty,  lazy,  smoking  men — the  rain  was  falling 
in  a  deluge,  and  no  books — no  companions.  As  I 
walked  disconsolately  up  and  down  a  great  room, 
they  call  in  American  hotels  the  ladies'  parlor,  a 
young  girl,  very  pretty  and  well  dressed,  who  was 
swinging  herself  in  a  rocking-chair,  and  reading 
Mrs.  Hemans,  rose  from  her  seat,  left  the  room 
without  saying  a  word,  and  returned  with  a  handful 
of  books,  and  several  numbers  of  an  excellent  lite- 
rary periodical,  "  The  Knickerbocker,  of  New- 
York,"  which  she  most  courteously  placed  before 


^ii  i 


BUFFALO. 


276 


I 


is  not  a 
Poronto 
Vhen  I 
rth  com- 
be sent 
■y  shops 
In  the 
w  writ- 
ne  your 
scribed, 
d  what 
articles 
n,  till  I 

*ant  and 
ichigan, 
•s.  Mac- 
vith  her 
laternai 

farming 

falling 

As  I 

room, 

irlor,   a 

^ho  was 

reading 

e  room 

handful 

jnt  lite- 

'   New- 

before 


me.     A  cup  of  water  in  a  desert  could  hardly  have 
been  more  welcome,  or  excited  warmer  thanks  and 
gratitude.     Thus  charitably  furnished  with   amuse* 
ment,  the  gloomy  wet  morning  did  at  last  glide 
away,  for  time  and  the  hour  will  creep  through  the 
dullest,  as  they  "  run  through"  the  roughest  day.    In 
the  evening  I  went  to  the  theatre,  to  a  private  box, 
a  luxury  which  I   had  not  expected  to  find  in  this 
most  democratical  of  cities.     The  theatre  is  small 
of  course,  but   very  neat  and    prettily  decorated. 
They  had   an   actress  from   New-York   starring  it 
here  for  a  few  nights,  the  tallest,  handsomest  woman 
I  ever  saw  on  the  stage,  who  looked  over  the  head 
of  her  diminutive  Romeo,  or  down  upon  him — the 
said  Romeo  being  dressed  in  the  costume  of  Othello, 
turban  and  all.     When  in  the  balcony,  the  rail  did 
not  reach  up  to  Juliet's  knees,  and   I   was  in  per- 
petual horror  lest  she  should  topple  down  headlong. 
This  would  have  been  the   more  fatal,  as  she  was 
the  only  one  who  knew  any  thing  of  her  part.     The 
other  actors   and  actresses  favored   us   with  a  sort 
of  gabble,  in  which  not  only  Shakspeare,  but  num- 
bers, sense,  and  grammar,  were  equally  put  to  con- 
fusion.   Mercutio  was  an  enormously  corpulent  man 
with  a  red  nose,  who  swaggered  about  and  filled 
up  every  hiatus  of  memory  with  a  good  round  oath. 
The  whole  exhibition  was  soinexjiressibly  ludicrous, 
that  I  was  forced  to  give  way  to  fits  of  uncontrolla- 
ble laughter — whereat  my  companions  looked  not 
well  pleased.     Nor  was  the  audience  less  amusing 
than  the  dramatis  personre:  the  pit  was  filled  by 
artisans  of  the  lowest  grade,   and  lake   mariners 


■\-} 


276 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


fr  ^^ 


sitting  i  1  their  straw  hats  and  shirt-sleeves — for  few 
had   either  c  oats  or  waistcoats.     They  were  most 
devoutly  attentive  to  the  story  in  their  own   way, 
eating  cakes  and  drinking  whiskey  between  the  acts, 
and  whenever  any  thing   especially  pleased  them, 
they  uttered  a  loud  whoop  and  halloo,  which  rever- 
berated through  the  theatre,  at  the  pame  time  slap- 
ping their   thighs  and  snapping  their  fingers.     In 
their  eyes,  Peter  and  the  nurse  were  evidently  the 
hero  and  heroine  of  the  piece,  and  never  appeared 
without  calling  forth  the  most  boisterous  applause. 
The  actor  and  actress  had  enriched  the  humor  of 
Shakspearc  by  adding    several    Yankee  witticisms 
and  allusions,  the  exact  import  of  which  I  could  not 
comprehend ;  but  they  gave  unqualified   delight  to 
the  merry  parterre.     1  did   not  wait  for  the  second 
entertainment,  having  some  fear  that  as  the  tragedy 
had  proved  a  farce,  the  farce  might  prove  a  tragedy. 
The  ne.vt  morning  I  returned  to  the  Falls,  which 
are   stiil  i,ullen  and  turbid,  owing  to  the   stormy 
weather  on  Lake  Erie. 


i:  I 


lil; 


!       1\  |i: 


THE    EMIORAM", 


J»77 


How  divine 
The  hbrrty  for  frail,  for  mortal  man 
To  roam  ai  lar^^o.  uir.nng  unpeoplVl  ^ilens, 
And  mou!it:iinous  rttiremcnis      ily  u-od 
By  devious  lootsieps—  rcg''     >  consecrate 
To  oldest  time ! 

V       iDSWORTll. 


i   r 


June  27. 

In  a  strange  country,  much  is  to  be  learned  by 
travelling  in  the  public  carriages  :  in  Germany  and 
elsewhere  I  have  preferred  this  mode  of  convey- 
ance, even  when  the  alternative  lay  v/ithin  my 
choice,  and  I  never  had  reason  to  regret  it. 

The  Canadian  stage-coaclics*  are  like  those  of 
the  United  States,  heavy,  lumbering  vehicles,  well 
calculated  to  live  in  roads  where  any  decent  carriage 
must  needs  founder.  In  one  of  these  I  embarked 
to  return  to  the  tovvu  of  Niagara,  thence  to  pursue 
my  journey  westward  ;  a  much  easier  and  shorter 
course  had  been  by  the  lake  steamers  ;  but  my 
object  was  not  haste,  nor  to  see  merely  sky  and 
water,  but  to  see  the  country. 


♦  That  is,  the  better  class  of  them,  bi  KoniP  parts  of  Upper 
Cutiada,lhestage,-coaclios  conveyinsj;  tile  mail  were  lar^e,oblong 
wooden  buxes,  formed  of  a  few  planks  nailed  together  and  placed 
on  wheels,  into  which  you  entered  by  the  windows,  there  being 
no  doors  to  open  find  shut,  and  no  springs.  Two  or  three  seata 
were  suspended  inside  on  leather  straps.  The  travellers  pro- 
vided their  own  buiTalo-skins  or  cushions  to  sit  on. 
VOL.  I.  31 


^nS^  ^o^aii 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


A 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


Ki   112.2 


■  JO 

m 

Hi 


Si 


2.0 


1.8 


U    IIIIII.5 


III 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


4^ 


^ 


f^^  m 


<^^ 
^ 

V 


6^ 


23  WIST  MAIN  STHIT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  I4S60 

( 71* )  •73-4503 


!**>. 


4^ 


t79 


SUaiUER   UAiir.LKS. 


I r^fr  ! 


I 


l.lf 


i  ■ ;  f  I 


^ 


III 


#*l 


In  the  slage-coach  two  persons  were  alteatly  seat- 
e4 — an  English  emigrant  and  his  wife,  with  whom 
1  quickly  made  acquaintance  after  my  usual  fashion. 
The  circumstances  and  the  story  of  this  man  I  thought 
worth  noting — not  because  there  was  any  thing  un- 
common or  peculiarly  interesting  in  his  case,  but 
simply  because  his  case  is  that  of  so  many  others  j 
while  the  direct  good  sense,  honesty  and  intelligence 
of  the  man  pleased  me  exceedingly. 

lie  told  me  that  he  had  come  to  America  in  bis 
own  behalf  and  that  of  several  others  of  his  own 
class — men  who  had  each  a  large  family  and  a  small 
capital,  who  found  it  difficult  to  get  on  and  settle 
their  children  in  England.  In  his  own  case,  he  had» 
been  some  years  ago  the  only  one  of  his  trade  in  a 
ilouriahing  country  town,  where  he  had  now  four- 
teen competitors.  Six  families,  in  a  similar  posi- 
tion, had  delegated  him  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  ; 
it  was  left  to  him  to  decide  whether  they  should 
settle  in  the  United  States  or  in  the  Canadas ;  so 
leaving  his  children  at  school  in  Long  Island,  "  he 
was  just,"  to  use  his  own  phrase,  "  taking  a  turn 
through  the  two  countries,  to  look  about  him  and 
gather  information  before  he  decided,  and  had 
brought  his  little  wife  to  see  the  grand  Falls  of 
Niagara,  of  which  ho  had  heard  so  much  in  the  old 
country." 

As  we  proceeded,  my  companion  mingled  with 
his  acute  questions,  and  his  learned  calculations  on 
crops  and  prices  of  land,  certain  observutiuns  ou 
the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  and  talked  of  lights  and 
shades,  and  foregrounds,  and  effects,  in  very  homely, 


Ml-  ' 


TUB    C&IIGRANT. 


27D 


ft! 


itly  seat- 
,h  whom 

fashion. 

thought 
liing  un> 
;ase,  but 
r  others ; 
jUigencc 

ca  in  bis 
hiB  own 
i  a  small 
,nd  settle 
3,  be  had) 
rade  in  a 
low  four- 
ilar  posi- 
scovery  ; 
y  should 
adas ;  bo 
md,  "  he 
ig  a  turn 
him  and 
and  had 
Falls  of 
u  the  old 

led  with 
ations  on 
itious  ou 
ights  and 
f  homely, 


plebeian  English,  but  with  so  much  of  real  taste  and 
feeling,  that  I  was  rather  astonished,  till  I  found  he 
had  been  a  print-seller  and  frame-maker,  which  last 
branch  of  trade  had  brought  him  into  contact  with 
artists  and  amateurs ;  and  he  told  me,  with  no  little 
exultation,  that  among  his  stock  of  moveables,  he 
had  brought  out  with  him  several  fine  drawings  of 
Prout,  Hunt,  and  even  Turner,  acquired  in  his  busi- 
ness. He  said  he  had  no  wish  at  present  to  part 
with  these,  for  it  was  his  intention,  wherever  he  setr 
tied,  to  hang  them  up  in  his  house,  though  that  house 
were  a  log  hut,  that  his  children  might  have  the 
pleasure  of  looki;ig  at  them,  and  learn  to  distinguish 
what  is  excelk  nt  in  its  kind. 

The  next  dj  y,  on  going  from  Niagara  to  Hamil- 
ton, in  a  storm  of  rain,  I  found,  to  my  no  small 
gratification,  the  English  emigrant  and  his  quiet, 
silent  little  wife,  already  seated  in  the  stage,  and  my 
only  compagnons  dc  voyage.  In  the  deportment  of 
this  man  there  was  that  deferential  courtesy  which 
you  see  in  the  manners  of  respectable  tradesmen, 
who  are  brou2;ht  much  into  intercourse  with  their 
superiors  in  rank,  without,  however,  a  tinge  of  ser- 
vility ;  and  his  conversation  amused  and  interested 
me  more  and  more.  He  told  me  he  had  been  born 
on  a  farm,  and  had  first  worked  as  a  farmer's  boy, 
then  as  a  house-carpenter,  lastly,  as  a  decorative 
carver  and  gilder,  so  that  there  was  no  kind  of  busi- 
ness to  which  he  could  not  readily  turn  his  hand. 
His  wife  was  a  good  sempstress,  and  he  had  brought 
up  all  his  six  children  to  be  useful,  giving  them  such 
opportunities  of  acquiring  knowledge  as  he  could. 


,1 


'.iri 


'I 


«!    'il' 


1 


It 


I*; 


€m 


I 


^vi*:'! 


,::*h 


\    , 


i  i'l; 


280 


BUMMER    RAMBLES. 


He  regrettetl  his  own  ignorance,  but,  as  he  said,  h© 
had  been  all  his  life  too  busy  to  find  time  for  reading 
much  He  was,  however,  resolved  that  his  boys 
and  girls  should  read,  because,  as  he  well  observed, 
**  every  sort  of  knowledu[e,  be  it  much  or  little,  was 
sure  to  turn  to  account  some  time  or  other."  His 
notions  on  education,  his  objections  to  the  common 
routine  of  common  schoors,  and  his  views  for  his 
children,  were  all  marl-ed  by  the  same  originality 
and  good  sense.  Altogether  he  appeared  to  be,  in 
every  respect,  just  the  kind  of  settler  we  want  in 
Upper  Canada.  I  was  therefore  pleased  to  hear 
that  hitherto  he  was  better  satisfied  with  the  little 
lie  had  seen  of  this  province,  than  with  those  states 
of  the  Union  through  which  he  had  journeyed  ;  h© 
said,  truly,  it  was  more  "  home-like,  more  English- 
like." I  did  my  best  to  encourage  him  in  this  favor- 
able opinion,  promising  myself  that  the  little  I 
might  be  able  to  do  to  promote  his  views,  that  I 
would  do.* 

While  the  conversation  was  thus  kept  up  with 
wonderful  pertinacity,  considering  that  our  vehicle 
was  reeling  and  tumbling  along  the  dete  ble  road, 
pitching  like  a  scow  among  the  brealu       a  a  lak© 


♦  And  I  di'l  my  best,  in  referring  hitr>  by 'etter  to  Dr.  Dunlop-^ 
for,  thouirh  parsoivally  unknown  to  hhr>,  I  knew  that  my  emi- 
grant was  exactly  the  man  todesei-vc  and  obtain  his  notice.  I 
also  wrote  to  Chief  Justice  Robinson  in  his  favor^  and  invited 
him  to  come  to  us  on  his  arrival  in  Toronto,  promising  him  the 
ChanrcUor'a  good-wiH  and  assistance.  But  I  never  heard  of 
the  man  again,  nor  could  I  find,  before  I  left  Canada,  that  hia 
aame  was  registered  aa  a  purchaser  of  land. 


THE    EMIGRANT. 


1J8L 


said,  he 
reading 
[lis  boys 
bserved, 
ttle,  was 
Hia 


. " 


common 
for  his 
iginality 
to  be,  in 
want  in 
to  hear 
the  little 
se  states 
yed  ;  h© 
English- 
is  favor- 
little  I 
rs,  that  1 

up  with 

vehicle 

ble  road, 

a  a  laki» 


Dunlop-^ 
t  my  emi- 
notice.  I 
nd  invited 
ng  him  the 
er  heard  of 
A,  that  bisi 


«itorm,  our  driver  stopped  before  a  vile  little  log  hut, 
over  the  door  of  which  hung  crooked-wise  a  board, 
«etting  forth  that  "  wiskey  and  tabacky"  were  to  be 
bad  there.  The  windows  were  broken,  and  the 
loud  voice  of  some  intoxicated  -.v retch  was  heard 
from  within,  in  one  uninterrupted  torrent  of  oaths 
and  blasphemies,  eo  shocking  in  their  variety,  and 
eo  new  to  ray  ears,  that  1  was  really  horror-struck. 

After  leaving  the  hut,  the  coach  stopped  again.  I 
called  to  the  driver  in  some  terror,  "You  are  not 
curely  going  to  admit  that  drunken  man  into  the 
coach?"  He  replied  coolly,  "  O  no,  I  an't;  don't 
you  be  afear'd  !"  In  the  next  moment  he  opened 
the  door,  and  the  very  wretch  T  stood  in  fear  of  was 
tumbled  in  head  foremost,  smelling  of  spirits,  and 
looking — O  most  horrible !  Expostulation  was  in 
vain.  Without  even  listening,  the  driver  shut  the 
<loor,  and  drove  on  at  a  gallop.  The  rain  was  at 
this  time  falling  in  torrents,  the  road  knee-deep  in 
mud,  the  v/ild  forest  on  either  side  of  us  dark,  grim, 
impenetrable.  Hulp  there  was  none,  nor  remedy, 
nor  redress,  nor  hope,  but  in  patience.  Here,  then, 
was  one  of  those  inflictions  to  which  speculative 
travellers  are  exposed  now  end  then,  appearing,  .^^ 
the  time,  to  outweigh  all  the  possible  advantages  of 
experience  or  knowledge  bought  at  such  a  price. 

I  had  never  before  in  my  whole  life  been  obliged 
to  endure  the  presence  or  proximity  of  such  an  ob- 
ject for  two  minutes  together,  and  the  astonishment, 
horror,  disgust,  even  to  sickness  and  loathing,  which 
it  now  inspired,  are  really  unspeikable.  The  Eng- 
tiehman,  placing  himself  in  the  middle  seat,  in  front 

24» 


M 


2S2 


SUMMEa  TtAMnj[.ES. 


:  fj  I  { : 


lf>    M 


\m 


r     I 


c 


of  his  wifa  and  ipyself,  did  his  best  to  protect 
us  from  all  possibility  of  contact  with  the  object  of 
our  abomination  ;  while  the  wretched  being,  aware 
(>f  our  adverse  feeling,  put  on  at  one  moment  an  air 
of  chuckling  self-complacency,  and  the  next  glared 
on  us  with  ferocious  defiance.  When  I  had  re- 
covered myself  sufHcienlly  toobserve,  I  saw,  with  ad- 
ded horror,  that  he  was  no  more  than  five-andtwenty, 
probably  much  younger,  with  a  face  and  figure  which 
must  have  been  by  nature  not  only  fine,  but  uncom- 
monly fine,  though  now  deformed,  degraded,  haggard 
and  inflamed  with  filth  and  inebriety — a  dreadful  and 
humiliating  spectacle.  Some  glimmering  remains  of 
sense  and  decency  prevented  him  from  swearing  and 
blaspheming  when  once  in  the  coach  ;  but  he  abused 
us  horribly  :  his  nasal  accent,  and  his  drunken  objur- 
gations against  the  old  country,  and  all  who  came 
from  it,  betrayed  his  own  birth  and  breeding  to  have 
been  on  the  other  side  of  the  Niagara,  or  "down 
^aftt."  Once  he  addressed  some  words  to  me,  and, 
offended  by  my  resolute  silence,  he  exclaimed,  with 
a  scowl,  and  a  hiccup  of  abomination  at  every  word, 
"  I  should  like-— to  know — madam — iiow — I  came 
v.nder  yoor  diabolical  influence'?"  Here  my  friend 
th(5  emigrant,  seeing  my  alarm,  interposed,  and  a 
scetio  ensued,  which,  in  spite  of  the  horrors  of  this 
horrible  propinquity,  was  irresistibly  comic,  and  not 
without  its  pathetic  significance  too,  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it.  The  Englishman,  forgetting  that  the 
i;ondition  of  the  man  placed. him  fofthe  time  beyond 
ihe  influence  of  reasoning  or  sympathy,  began  with 
^rare  'lail  benevolent  earnestness  to  lecture  him  on 


THE  EMIGRANT. 


283 


protect 
)bject  of 
5,  aware 
nt  an  air 
;t  glared 

had  re- 
with  ad- 
-twenty, 
re  which 

uncom- 
hapfgarxl 
idfuland 
jmainsof 
iring  and 
e  abused 
en  objur- 
'ho  camo 
5  to  have 
r "down 
me,  and, 
ned,  with 
ry  word, 
—  I  came 
ny  friend 
;d,  and  a 
ra  of  this 
,  and  not 
'.  come  to 

that  the 
e  beyond 
gan  with 

e  him  on 


his  profligate  habits,  expressing  his  amazement  and 
bib  piry  at  seeing  such  a  fine  young  man  fallen  into 
such  jvil  ways,  and  exhorting  him  to  mend,  the  fel- 
low, meanwhile,  rolling  himself  from  side  to  side 
with  laughter.  But  suddenly  his  countenanre 
changed,  and  he  said  v/ith  a  wistful  expression,  and 
the  tears  in  his  eyes,  "Friend,  do  you  believe  in  the 
deviU" 

"  Yos,  I  do,"  replied  the  Englishman,  with  solem- 
nity. 

"  Then  it's  your  opinion,  I  guess,  that  a  man  may 
l^e  tempted  by  the  devil  V 

"  Yes,  and  I  should  suppose  as  how  that  has  been 
your  case,  friend  ;  though,"  added  he,  looking  at 
him  from  head  to  ^^ot  with  no  equivocal  expression, 
^'  I  think  the  devil  himself  misfht  have  more  charity 
than  to  put  a  man  in  such  a  pickle." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  1"  exclaimed  tho 
wretch  fiercely,  and  for  the  first  time  uttering  a  hor- 
rid oath.  The  emigrant  only  replied  by  shaking 
his  head  significantly ;  and  the  other,  after  pouring 
forth  a  volley  of  abuse  against  the  insolence  of  the 
"  old  country  folk,"  stretched  himself  on  his  back, 
and  kicking  up  his  legs  on  high,  and  setting  his  feet 
against  the  roof  of  the  coach,  fell  asleep  in  tbis  ntfi- 
tude,  and  snored,  till,  at  the  end  of  a  long  hour,  ha 
was  tumbled  out  at  the  door  of  another  drinking 
hovel  as  he  had  tumbled  in,  and  we  saw  him  no 
more. 

The  distance  from  the  town  of  Niagara  to  Hamil- 
tt>n  IB  about  forty  miles.  We  had  left  the  former 
|-lao«  at  ten  in  the  morning,  yet  it  was  nearly  mid- 


V 


ItSi 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


I    i.. 


I 


night  before  we  arrived,  having  had  no  refreshment 
during  the  whole  day.  It  was  market-day,  and  the 
time  of  the  assizes,  and  not  a  bed  to  be  had  at  the 
only  tolerable  hotel,  which,  I  should  add,  is  large 
and  commodious.  The  people  were  civil  beyond 
measure,  and  a  bed  was  made  up  for  me  in  a  back 
parlour,  into  which  I  sank  half  starved,  and  very 
completely  tired. 

The  next  day  rose  bright  and  beautiful,  and  I 
amused  myself  walking  up  and  down  the  pretty 
town  for  two  or  three  hours. 

Hamilton  is  the  capital  of  the  Gore  district,  and 
one  of  the  most  flourishing  places  in  [Jpper  Canada. 
It  is  situated  at  the  extreme  point  of  Burlington 
Bay,  at  the  head  of  Lake  Ontario,  with  a  popula- 
fion,  annually  increasing,  of  about  three  thousand, 
The  town  is  about  a  mile  from  the  lake  shore,  a 
space  which,  in  the  course  of  time,  will  probably  be 
covered  with  buildings.  I  understand  that  seventeen 
thousand  bushels  of  wheat  were  shipped  here  in 
one  month.  There  is  a  bank  here  ;  a  court-house 
and  jail  looking  unfinished,  and  the  commencement 
of  a  public  reading-room  and  literary  society,  of 
which  I  cannot  speak  from  my  own  knowledge,  and 
which  appears  as  yet  in  embryo.  Some  of  the  linen* 
drapers'  shops,  called  here  clothing  stores,  and  the 
grocery  stores,  or  shops  for  all  the  descriptions  of 
imported  merchandise,  made  a  very  good  appear* 
■nee;  and  there  was  an  air  of  business,  and  bustle,^ 
end  animation  about  the  place  which  pleased  me. 
i  saw  no  boo)ueller*s  shop,  but  a  few  books  on  tho 


HAMILTON. 


255 


;shment 
and  the 
d  at  the 
is  large 
beyond 
1  a  back 
ind  very 

1,  and  Y 
5  pretty 

rict,  and 
Canada, 
rlington 

popnla- 
lousand, 
shore,  a 
bably  be 
jventeen 

here  in 
rt-house 
ticement 
ciely,  of 
]ge,  and 
he  linen- 

and  the 
ptions  of 

appear- 
d  bustlei^ 
Bised  me. 
ka  on  the 


shelves  of  a  grocery  store,  of  the  most  common  and 
coarse  description. 

Allen  M'Nab,  the  present  speaker  of  the  house  of 
assembly,  has  a  very  beautiful  house  here,  and  is  a 
principal  mercharc  and  proprietor  in  the  town;  but 
he  was  at  this  time  absent.  I  had  heard  much  of 
Mr.  Cattermole,  the  author  of  a  very  clever  little 
book  addressed  to  emigrants,  and  alsoadistinguished 
inhabitant  of  the  place.  I  wished  to  see  this  gentle- 
man, but  there  were  some  difficulties  in  finding  him, 
and,  after  waiting  sjme  time,  1  was  obliged  to  take 
my  departure,  a  long  day's  journey  being  before 
me. 

I  hope  you  have  a  map  of  Canada  before  you,  or 
Rt  hand,  that  what  I  am  now  going  to  tell  you  may  be 
intelligible. 

They  have  projected  a  railroad  from  Hamilton 
westward  through  the  London  and  AVestern  dis- 
tricts— certainly  one  of  the  grandest  and  mosc  use- 
ful undertakings  in  the  world — in  this  world,  I 
mean.  The  want  of  a  line  of  road,  of  an  accessi- 
ble market  for  agricultural  produce,  keeps  this 
magnificent  country  poor  and  ignorant  in  the  midst 
of  unequal  capabilities.  If  the  formation  of  the 
Rideau  Canal,  in  the  eastern  disirictj,  (connecting 
Lake  Ontario  with  the  Ottawa  river,)  has,  in  spite 
of  many  disadvantages  in  the  soil  and  locality, 
brought  that  part  of  the  province  so  f;ir  in  advance 
of  the  rest,  in  population,  wealth,  and  intelligence — 
what  would  not  a  railroad  do  for  them  here,  where 
the  need  is  at  least  as  great — the  resources,  natural 
and  accidental,  much  superior — and  the  prospect  of 


5  f' 


nea 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


M»  ;    '1 


I     r) 


advantage,  in  every  point  of  view,  infinitely  more 
promising  ? 

Under  all  disadvantages,  this  part  of  the  pro- 
vince has  been  the  usual  route  of  emiirrants  to 
the  Western  States  of  the  Union  ;  for,  as  you  will 
perceive  by  a  glance  at  the  map,  it  is  the  shortest 
road  to  Michigan  and  the  Illinois  by  some  hundreds 
of  miles.  If  there  were  but  a  railroad,  opening  a 
direct  communication  through  the  principal  settle- 
ments between  Hamilton  on  Lake  Ontario,  and 
Sandwich  at  the  head  of  Lake  Erie,  there  is  no 
calculatinof  the  advantaQ:es  that  must  arise  from  it — 
even  immediate  advantage  ;  but  "  want  of  capital," 
as  1  hear  all  round  me— and  they  might  add  want  of 
energy,  want  of  enterprise,  want  of  every  thing 
needful,  besides  money — the  one  thing  most  need- 
ful— are  likely  to  defer  the  com])letion  of  this  mag- 
oificent  plan  for  many  years.  I  wonder  some  of 
our  great  speculators  and  monied  men  in  England 
do  not  speculate  here,  instead  of  sending  their 
money  to  the  United  States  ; — or  rather  I  do  not 
wonder,  seeing  whr.t  I  see.  But  1  wish  that  the 
government  would  do  something  to  remove  the 
almost  universal  impression,  that  this  province  is 
regarded  by  the  powers  at  home  with  distrust  and 
indifference — something  to  produce  more  confi- 
dence in  public  men  and  public  measures,  without 
which  there  can  be  no  enterprise,  no  prosperity,  no 
railroads.  What  that  something  is,  being  no  politi- 
cian nor  political  economist  like  Harriet  Martineau, 
I  canuot  point  out,  nor  even  conjecture.  I  have 
just  sense  enough  to  see,  to  feel,  that  something 


» ,'iii 


BAMILTON. 


28T 


ly  more 

the  pro- 
rants  to 
you  will 
shortest 
undreds 
lening  a 
il  settle- 
rio,  and 
3re  is  no 
rom  it — 
capital," 
1  want  of 
jry  thing 
)st  need- 
lis  mag- 
some  of 
England 
ig  their 

do  not 
that  the 
ove  the 
vince  is 
rust  and 
e  confi- 
without 
arity,  no 
lo  politi- 
irtineau, 

I  have 
mething 


must  be  done — that  the  necessity  speaks  in  every 
iorm  all  round  me. 

I  should  not  forget  to  mention,  that  in  the  Nia- 
gara  and  Gore  diritricts  there  is  a  vast  number  of 
Dutch  and  German  settlers,  favorably  distinguished 
by  their  industrious,  sober,  and  thriving  habita. 
They  are  always  to  be  distinguished  in  person  and 
dress  from  the  British  settlers;  and  their  houses, 
and  churches,  and  above  all,  their  buiial-placea, 
have  a  distinct  and  characteristic  look.  At  Berlin, 
the  Germans  have  a  printing-press,  and  publish  a 
newspaper  in  their  own  language,  which  is  circula- 
ted among  their  countrymen  through  the  whole 
province. 

At  Hamilton  I  hired  a  light  tongon,  as  they  call 
it,  a  sort  of  gig  perched  in  the  middle  of  a  wooden 
tray,  wherein  my  baggage  was  stowed ;  and  a  man 
to  drive  me  over  to  Brandtford,  tlio  distance  being 
about  five-and-twenty  miles,  and  the  charge  five 
dollars.  The  country  all  the  way  was  rich,  and 
beautiful,  and  fertile  beyond  description — the  roada 
abominable  as  could  be  imagined  to  exist.  JSu  I 
then  thought,  but  have  learned  since  that  there  are 
degrees  of  badness  in  this  respect,  to  which  the 
human  imagination  has  not  yet  descended.  I  re- 
member a  space  of  about  three  miles  on  this  road, 
bordered  entirely  on  each  side  by  dead  trees,  which 
has  been  artificially  blasted  by  fire,  or  by  girdling. 
It  was  a  ghastly  forest  of  tall  white  spectres, 
strangely  contrasting  with  the  glowing  luxurioui 
fuliage  all  around. 

The  pity  I  have  for  the  trees  in  Canada,  shuwt 


'if 


y 


1 1 


^:i 


1;' 


'■I 


-t. 


\v 


s>l 


!M>:i 


r 


r 


''i 


i 


:»!( 


iH 


'if' 


f 


»68 


svMMrn  nAM»i,ES. 


bow  far  1  am  yet  from  boing  a  true  Canatlian- 
How  do  u"o  kiuiw  iIkjI  frees  <lt»  not  feel  their  down* 
fal  1  We  know  iiofliinsr  about  it.  The  line  which 
divides  animal  from  vru;('t;iblo  sensibility  is  as  un- 
defined ii.i  tlic  lino  whidi  divides  animnl  from 
human  intolli^ence.  And  il'it  be  ttuo  "that  nothing 
dies  on  enrtb.  but  nature  jiiouins,"  bow  must  she 
mourn  for  llio,-:o,  tin?  mi<';lity  chlldrei*  of  her  bosom 
—her  prido,  her  gloiy,  .!  or  gn:  nieiit,  1  Without  ex- 
potly  believing  the  assertion  of  fhc  old  jvliilosopher,* 
lliit  a  tree  J'ecls  the  fir.st  wtroke  of  ibe  axe,  1  know 
I  never  witness  nor  hear  tliat  fiist  stroke  without  a 
sliudder ;  and  as  yet  I  cannot  look  on  with  indif- 
ference, far  le:*s  r-liare  the  Ciinadiiin's  exultation, 
when  these  iiu<^e  oa.ks,  these  und)r:igeous  elms  and 
stately  pines,  arc-  iying  jirostrate,  lojped  of  all  their 
honors,  and  piled  in  heajKS  with  the  brushwood,  to 
be  fired — or  burned  down  to  a  chirred  and  black- 
ened fragnierjt — or  stariditi!/,  leafless,  saplet-s,  seared^ 
y!  istly,  having  l>ecn  "  'jiidied,"  and  left  to  perish. 
i  ..o*  "  Fool  i'  the  Forest,"*  moralized  not  more 
quaintly  over  the  wounded  deer,  than  1  could  some- 
times  over  those  prostrated  and  mangled  trees.  1 
romemb^'r  in  one  of  the  clearings  to-day,  one  par- 
liicular  tree  which  had  been  burned  and  blasted  ; 
only  a  blackened  stumj)  of  mouldering  bark — a 
mere  shell  remained  ;  and  from  the  centre  of  this, 
as  from  some  hidden  source  of  vitality,  sprang  up 
a  young  green  shoot,  tall  and  flourishing,  and  fresh 

*  Cluoted  by  Evelyn, 
t  As  You  Like  It. 


JOSEPH    BRANDT. 


289 


n 


.M' 


anailian. 
ir  down* 
c  which 
8  as  un-' 
lal  from 
nothing 
lUst  she 
r  bosom 
hont  ex- 
Ropher,* 
I  know 
ilhout  a 
th  inclit- 
ultatioii, 
:1ms  niitl 
all  their 
rvood,  to 
d  black- 
,  seared, 
>  ])eilsh. 
i)t  more 
Id  some- 
rees.  1 
one  par- 
blasted  ; 
bark — a 
of  this, 
•  rang  up 
nd  fresh 


and  leafy.  I  looked  and  thought  of  hope !  Why, 
indeed,  should  we  ever  despair  ]  Can  Heaven  do 
for  the  blasted  tree  what  it  cannot  do  for  the  human 
heart  t 

The  largest  place  we  passed  was  Ancaster,  very 
prettily  situated  among  pastures  and  rich  woods, 
and  rapidly  improving. 

Before  sunset  I  arrived  at  Brandtford,  and  took 
a  walk  about  the  town  and  its  environs.  The  situ- 
atioTa  of  this  place  is  most  beautiful — on  a  hill  above 
the  left  bank  of  the  Grand  River.  And  as  I  stood 
and  traced  this  noble  stream,  winding  through  rich- 
ly-wooded flats,  with  green  meadows  and  cultivated 
fields,  I  was  involuntarily  reminded  of  the  Thames 
near  Richmond  ;  the  scenery  has  the  same  charac- 
ter of  tranquil  and  luxuriant  beauty. 

In  Canada  the  traveller  can  enjoy  little  of  the  in- 
terest derived  from  association,  either  historical  or 
poetical.  Yet  the  memory  of  General  Brock,  and 
some  anecdotes  of  the  last  war,  lend  something  of 
this  kind  of  interest  to  the  Niagara  frontier ;  and 
this  place,  or  rather  the  name  of  this  place,  has  cer- 
tain recollections  connected  with  it,  which  might 
well  make  an  idle  contemplative  wayfarer  a  little 
pensive. 

Brandt  was  the  chief  of  that  band  of  Mohawk 
warriors  which  served  on  the  British  side  during 
the  American  War  of  Independence.  After  the 
termination  of  the  contest,  the  "  Six  Nations"  left 
their  ancient  seats  to  the  south  of  Lake  Ontario, 
and  having  received  from  the  English  government 
a  grant  of  land  along  the  banks  of  the  Grand  Riyer, 

VOL.  IV.  25 


I 


'  !i  r. 


f     ii 


i*    T 


n 


J.  < 


1 
W 


.«  ' ; 


w 


J890 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


M'i 


and  the  adjacent  shore  of  Lake  Erie,  they  settletl 
here  under  their  chief,  Brandt,  in  1783.  Great  part 
of  this  land,  some  of  the  finest  in  the  province,  has 
lately  been  purchased  back  from  them  by  the  goY- 
emment,  and  settled  by  thriving  English  farmers. 

Brandt,  who  had  intelligence  enough  to  perceive 
and  acknowledge  the  superiority  of  the  whites  in 
all  the  arts  of  life,  was  at  first  anxious  for  the  con- 
version and  civilization  of  his  nation  ;  but  I  was 
told  by  a  gentleman  who  had  known  him,  that  after 
a  visit  he  paid  to  England,  this  wish  no  longer  ex- 
isted. He  returned  to  his  ow»?  people  with  no  very 
sublime  idea  either  of  our  morals  or  manners,  and 
died  in  1807. 

He  is  the  Brandt  whom  Campbell  has  handed 
down  to  most  undeserved  execration  as  the  leader 
in  the  massacre  at  Wyoming.  The  poet  indeed 
tells  us,  in  the  notes  to  Gertrude  of  Wyoming, 
that  all  he  has  said  against  Brandt  must  be  con- 
sidered as  pure  fiction,  "  for  that  he  was  remarka- 
ble for  his  humanity,  and  not  even  present  at  the 
massacre ;"  but  the  name  stands  in  the  text  as 
heretofore,  apostrophized  as  the  "  accursed  Brandt," 
the  •*  nraiister  Brandt;"  and  is  not  this  most  unfair, 
to  be  h.tched  into  elegant  and  popular  rhyme  as  an 
assassin  by  wholesale,  and  justice  done  in  a  little 
fag-end  of  prose? 

His  son,  John  Brandt,  received  a  good  education, 
and  waE  a  member  of  the  house  of  assembly  for  his 
district.  He  too  died  in  a  short  time  before  rt>y  ar- 
rival  in  this  country  ;  and   the    son  of  his  sister, 


.1   '     ll 


•i  III 


ly  settlexl 
reat  part 
ince,  has 

the  gOY- 
tirmers. 

perceive 
whites  in 
•  the  con- 
iit  I  was 
that  after 
onger  ex- 
h  no  very 
iners,  and 

IS  handed 
he  leader 
et  indeed 
V"yoming, 
t  be  con- 
remarka- 
int  at  the 
e  text  as 
I  Brandt," 
3St  unfair, 
ynie  as  an 
in  a  little 

education, 
5ly  for  his 
re  rt>y  ar- 
his  siistcr, 


THE    SIX   NATIONS. 


291 


Mrs.  Kerr,  is  at  present  the  hereditary  chief  of  the 
Six  Nations. 

They  consist  at  present  of  two  thousand  five 
hundred,  out  of  the  seven  or  eight  thousand  who 
first  settled  here.  Here,  as  every  where  else,  the 
decrease  of  the  Indian  population  settled  on  the 
reserve  lands  is  uniform.  The  white  population 
throughout  America  is  supposed  to  double  itself  on 
an  average  in  twenty-three  years ;  in  about  the 
same  proportion  do  the  Indians  perish  bofore  them. 

The  interests  and  property  of  these  Indians  are 
at  present  managed  by  the  government.  The  reve- 
nue arising  from  the  sale  of  their  lands  is  in  the  hands 
of  commissioners,  and  much  is  done  for  their  conver- 
sion and  civilization.  It  will,  however,  be  the  affair 
of  two,  or  three,  or  more  generations  ;  and  by  that 
time  not  many,  I  am  afraid,  will  be  left.  Consump- 
tion makes  dreadful  havoc  among  them.  At  present 
they  have  churches,  schools,  and  an  able  missionary 
who  has  studied  their  language,  beside  several  resi- 
dent Methodist  preachers.  Of  the  two  thousand 
five  hundred  already  mentioned,  the  far  greater 
part  retain  their  old  faith  and  customs,  having  bor- 
rowed from  the  whites,  only  those  habits  which  cer- 
tainly "  were  more  honored  in  the  breach  thian  in  the 
observance."  I  saw  many  of  these  people,  and 
spoke  to  some,  who  replied  with  a  quiet,  self-pos- 
sessed courtesy,  and  in  very  intelligible  English. 
One  group  which  I  met  outside  the  town,  consisting 
of  two  young  men  in  blanket  coats  and  leggings, 
one  haggard  old  woman,  with  a  man's  hat  on  her 
head,  a  blue  blanket  and  deer-skin  moccasins,  and  a 


I 


I! 


'I 


if 


>  5 


'A 


SI  >  'ill 
•klv 


i  i  ■• 


i 


til 


h 


i\ 


M  '■■■       ". ! 


f^ 


i .  ' 
■  "■  ■  / 

Ml 


292 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


very  beautiful  girl,  apparently  not  more  than  fifteen, 
similarly  dressed,  with  long  black  hair  hanging  loose 
over  her  face  and  shoulders,  and  a  little  baby,  many 
shades  iairer  than  herself,  peeping  from  the  folds  of 
her  blanket  behind,  altogether  reminded  me  of  a 
group  of  gipsies,  such  as  I  have  seen  on  the  borders 
of  Sherwood  Forest  many  years  ago. 

The  Grand  River  is  navigable  for  steam-boats 
from  Lake  Erie  up  to  the  landing-place,  about  two 
miles  below  Brandtford,  and  from  thence  a  canal  is 
to  be  cut,  some  time  or  other,  to  the  town.  The 
present  site  of  Brandtford  was  chosen  on  account  of 
those  very  rapids  which  do  indeed  obstruct  the  navi> 
gation,  but  turn  a  number  of  mills,  here  of  the  first 
importance.  The  usual  progress  of  a  Canadian 
village  is  this :  first  on  some  running  stream,  the 
erection  of  a  savv-m;ll  and  grist-mill  for  the  conve- 
nience of  the  neighboring  scattered  settlers ;  then 
a  few  shanties  or  log-houses  for  the  work-poople  ; 
then  a  grocery-store  ;  then  a  tavern — a  chapel — per- 
chan<;e  a  school-house — wnd  so  wtiter,  as  the  Ger- 
man* say.* 

*  The  erection  of  a  church  or  chapel  generally  precedes  that  of 
a  school-hduse  in  Upper  Canada,  but  the  mill  and  the  tavern  in- 
variably precede  both.  "  In  the  United  States,"  says  Mr. 
Schoolcraft,  "  the  first  public  edifice  is  a  court-house;  then  a 
jail ;  then  a  school-house — perhaps  an  academy,  where  religious 
exercises  may  be  occasionally  held ;  but  a  house  of  public  wor- 
ship is  the  result  of  a  more  mature  state  of  the  settlement.  If," 
he  adds,  "  we  have  sometimes  been  branded  as  litigious,  it  is 
not  altogether  without  foundation ;  and,  notwithstanding  the 
very  humble  estimate  which  foreign  reviewers  have  been  pleased 
to  make  of  our  literary  character  and  attainments,  there  is  more 


3  fifteen, 
ng  loose 
>y,  many 
I  folds  of 
me  of  a 
borders 

im-boats 
)Out  two 

canal  is 
n.  The 
count  of 
;he  navi- 

the  first 
Canadian 
!am,  the 
e  conve- 
rs ;  then 
poople ; 
el — per- 
he  Ger- 


desthatof 
tavern  in- 
says  Mr. 
le ;  then  a 
!  religious 
iblic  wor- 
lent.  If," 
ious,  it  is 
iding  the 
;n  pleased 
e  is  more 


BRANDTFORD. 


893 


Not  having  bee  properly  forewarned,  I  unfortu- 
tunately  allowed  the  driver  to  take  me  to  a  wrong 
inn.  I  ought  to  have  put  up  at  the  Mansion-house, 
well-kept  by  a  retired  half-pay  British  officer ;  in- 
stead of  which  I  was  brought  to  the  Commercial 
Hotel,  newly  undertaken  by  an  American.  I  sent 
to  the  landlord  to  say  I  wished  to  speak  to  him 
about  proceeding  on  my  journey  next  day.  The 
next  moment  the  man  walked  into  my  bed-room 
without  hesitation  or  apology.  I  was  too  much  ac- 
customed to  foreign  manners  to  be  greatly  discom- 
fited ;  but  when  he  proceeded  to  fling  his  hat  down 
on  my  bed,  and  throw  himself  into  the  only  arm- 
chair in  the  room,  while  I  was  standing,  I  must  own 
I  did  look  at  him  with  some  surprise.  To  those 
who  have  been  accustomed  to  the  servile  courtesy 
of  English  innkeepers,  the  manners  of  the  innkeep- 
ers in  the  United  States  are  not  pleasant.  I  cannot 
say  they  ever  discomposed  me  :  I  always  met  with 
civility  and  attention  ;  but  the  manners  of  the  coun- 
try innkeepers  in  Canada  are  worse  than  any  thing 
you  can  meet  with  in  the  United  States,  being  gene- 
rally kept  by  refugee  Americans  of  the  lowest  class, 
or  by  Canadians  who,  in  affecting  American  manners 
and  phraseology,  grossly  exaggerate  both. 

In  the  present  case  I  saw  at  once  that  no  incivility 
was  intended  ;  my  landlord  was  ready  at  a  fair  price 
to  drive  me  over  himself,  in  his  own  "  wagon,"  to 
Woodstock  ;  and  after  this  was  settled,  finding,  after 
a  few  questions,  that  the   man  was  really  a  most 

likelihood  of  our  obtaining  the  reputation  of  a  learned  than  a 
pious  pcoi>\e."—Schoolcrnft's  Travels. 

25* 


111 
14 

r 


I 


Ml 


^•^ 


'ijj 


^ 


i'i 


' ' 


294 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


Ill"* 


:1»    f'  9\ 


U  ' 


Btupid,  ignorant  fellow,  I  turned  to  the  window,  and 
took  up  a  book,  as  a  hint  for  him  to  be  gone.  He 
continued,  however,  to  lounge  in  the  chai",  rocking 
himself  in  silence  to  and  fro,  till  at  last  he  did  con- 
descend to  take  my  hint,  and  to  take  his  departure. 

Though  tired  beyond  expression,  I  was  for  some 
time  prevented  from  going  to  rest  by  one  of  those 
disgraceful  scenes  which  meet  me  at  every  turn.  A 
man  in  the  dress  of  a  gentleman,  but  in  a  state  of 
brutal  intoxication,  was  staggering,  swearing,  voci- 
ferating, beneath  my  window,  while  a  party  of  men, 
also  respectably  dressed,  who  were  smoking  and 
drinking  before  the  door,  regarded  him  with  amuse- 
ment or  indifference  ;  some  children  and  a  few  In- 
dians were  looking  on.  This  person,  as  the  maid- 
servant informed  me,  was  by  birth  a  gentleman,  and 
had  good  practice  in  the  law.  "  Three  years  ago 
there  wasn't  a  smarter  (cleverer)  man  in  the  dis- 
trict :"  now  he  was  ruined  utterly  in  health,  fortune, 
and  character.  His  wife's  relations  had  taken  her 
and  her  children  away,  and  had  since  clothed  him, 
and  allowed  him  something  for  a  subsistence.  He 
continued  to  disturb  the  whole  neighborhood  for 
two  hours,  and  I  was  really  surprised  by  the  for- 
bearance with  which  he  was  treated. 

Next  morning  I  took  another  walk.  There  are 
several  good  shops  and  many  houses  in  progress, 
some  of  them  of  brick  and  stone.  I  met  two  or 
three  well-dressed  women  walking  down  Colborne- 
street ;  and  the  people  were  bustling  about  with 
animated  faces — a  strong  contrast  to  the  melanrho- 
]y,  indolent-looking  Indians.  I  understand  that  there 


FOREST  SCENERY. 


295 


are  now  about  twelve  hundred  inhabitroits,  the  po- 
pulation having  tripled  in  three  years :  and  they 
have  a  newspaper,  an  agricultural  society,  a  post- 
office  ;  a  Congregational,  a  Baptist,  and  Methodist 
church,  a  largo  chair  manufactory,  and  other  mills 
and  manufactories  which  I  had  no  time  to  visit. 


At  ten  o'clock,  a  little  vehicle,  like  that  which 
brought  me  from  Hamilton,  was  at  the  door ;  and  I 
sot  off  for  Woodstock,  driven  by  my  American  land- 
lord, who  showed  himself  as  good-natured  and  civil 
as  he  was  impenetrably  stupid. 

No  one  who  has  a  single  atom  of  imagination, 
can  travel  through  these  forest  roads  of  Canada 
without  being  strongly  impressed  and  excited.  The 
seemingly  interminable  line  of  trees  before  you ; 
the  boundless  wilderness  around ;  the  mysterious 
depths  amid  the  multitudinous  foliage,  where  foot 
of  man  hath  never  penetrated, — and  which  partial 
gleams  of  the  noontide  sun,  now  seen,  now  lost,  lit 
up  with  a  changeful,  magical  beauty — the  wondrous 
splendor  and  novelty  of  the  flowers — the  silence, 
unbroken  but  by  the  low  cry  of  a  bird,  or  hum  of 
insect,  or  the  splash  and  croak  of  some  huge  bull- 
frog, — the  solitude  in  which  we  proceeded  mile 
after  mile,  no  human  being,  no  human  dwelling 
within  sight, — are  all  either  exciting  to  the  fancy, 
or  oppressive  to  the  spirits,  according  to  the  mood 
one  may  be  in.  Their  effect  on  myself  I  can  hard- 
ly describe  in  words. 


••«>■,- 


Mhd 


296 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


If'; 


:,lJ 


I  observed  some  birds  of  a  species  new  to  me  ; 
there  was  the  lovely  blue-bird,  with  its  brilliant 
violet  plumage ;  and  a  most  gorgeous  species  of 
woodpecker,  with  a  black  head,  white  breast,  and 
back  and  wings  of  the  brightest  scarlet ;  hence  it  is 
called  by  some  the  field-officer,  and  more  generally 
the  cock  of  the  woods.  I  should  have  called  it  the 
coxcomb  of  the  woods,  for  it  came  flitting  across  our 
road,  clinging  co  the  trees  before  us,  and  remaining 
pertinaciously  in  sight,  as  if  conscious  of  its  own 
splendid  array,  and  pleased  to  be  admired. 

There  was  also  the  Canadian  robin,  a  bird  as  large 
as  a  thrush,  but  in  plumage  and  shape  resembling 
the  sweet  bird  at  home  "  that  wears  the  scarlet  sto- 
macher." There  were  great  numbers  of  small 
birds  of  a  bright  yellow,  like  canaries,  and  I  believe 
of  the  same  genus.  Sometimes,  when  1  looked  up 
from  the  depth  of  foliage  to  the  blue  firmament 
above,  I  saw  the  eagle  sailing  through  the  air  on 
apparently  motionless  wings.  Nor  let  me  forget  the 
splendor  of  the  flowers  which  carpeted  the  woods 
on  either  side.  I  might  have  exclaimed  with  Eidi- 
endorfi", 

"  O  Welt!  Du  schtine  welt,  Du! 
Mann  sicht  Dich  vor  Bliimen  kaum! 

for  thus  in  some  places  did  a  rich  embroidered  pall 
of  flowers  literally  hide  the  earth.  There  those 
beautiful  plants,  which  we  cultivate  with  such 
care  in  our  gardens,  azalias,  rhododendrons,  all  the 
gorgeous  family  of  the  lobelia,  were  flourishing  in 


V   '•!( 


;*:* 


SCENE    AT    THE    INN. 


207 


to  me ; 
)ril1iant 
scies  of 
ast,  and 
nee  it  is 
jnerally 
d  it  the 
ross  our 
maining 
its  own 

as  large 
embling 
rlet  sto- 
f  small 
believe 
oked  up 
mament 
3  air  on 
rget  the 
B  woods 
th  Eich- 


red  pall 
•e  those 
th  such 
I,  all  the 
ihing  in 


wild  luxuriance.  Festoons  of  creeping  and  para- 
sitical plants  hung  from  branch  to  branch.  The 
purple  and  scarlet  iris,  blue  larkspur,  and  the  ele- 
gant Canadian  columbine  with  its  bright  pink  flow- 
ers ;  the  scarlet  lychnis,  a  species  of  orchis  of  the 
most  dazzling  geranium-color,  and  the  white  and 
yellowand  purple  cyprepedium,*  bordered  the  path, 
and  a  thousand  others  of  most  resplendent  hues,  for 
which  I  knew  no  names.  1  could  not  pass  them 
with  forbearance,  and  my  Yankee  driver,  alighting, 
gathered  for  me  a  superb  bouquet  from  the  swampy 
margin  of  the  forest.  I  contrived  to  fasten  my 
flowers  in  a  wreath  along  the  front  of  the  wagon, 
that  I  might  enjoy  at  leisure  their  novelty  and  beauty. 
How  lavish,  how  carelessly  profuse  is  nature  in  her 
handiwork !  In  the  interiok'  of  the  cyprepedium, 
which  I  tore  open,  there  was  variety  of  configura- 
tion, and  color,  and  gem-like  richness  of  ornament, 
enough  to  fashion  twenty  different  flowers ;  and  for 
the  little  fly  in  jewelled  cuirass,  which  I  found  couch- 
ed within  its  recesses,  what  a  palace !  that  of  Aladdin 
could  hardly  have  been  more  splendid ! 

But  I  spare  you  these  fantastic  speculations  and 
cogitations,  and  many  more  that  came  flitting  across 
my  fancy.  I  am  afraid  that,  old  as  I  am,  my  youth 
has  been  yokefellow  with  my  years,  and  that  I  am 
yet  a  child  in  some  things. 

From  Brandtford  we  came  to  Paris,  a  new  settle- 
ment, beautifully  situated,  and  thence  to  Woodstock, 


•  From  its  resemblance  in  form  to  a  shoe,  this  splendid  flower 
bears  every  where  the  same  name.  The  English  call  it  lady's 
slipper;  the  Indians  know  it  as  the  moccasin  flower. 


■I  '■' 


i* 


li 


I*' 


i'  I  ^ 


i,  'i 


t 


I   'I 


I    1  ;■' 


I 


1  ; 


298 


SUMMER    RAMnLES. 


Iv'^ 


UA 


V 


\ 


a  distance  of  eighteen  miles.  There  is  no  village, 
only  isolated  inns,  far  removei'  from  each  other.  In 
one  of  these,  kept  by  a  Frenchman,  I  dined  on  milk 
and  eggs  and  excellent  bread.  Here  I  found  every 
appearance  of  prosperity  and  plenty.  The  land- 
lady, an  American  woman,  told  me  they  had  come 
into  this  wilderness  twenty  years  ago,  when  there 
was  not  another  farm-house  within  fifty  miles.  She 
had  brought  up  and  settled  in  comfort  several  sons 
and  daughters.  An  Irish  farmer  came  in,  who  had 
refreshments  spread  for  him  in  the  porch,  and  with 
whom  1  had  some  amusing  conversation.  He,  too, 
was  prospering  with  a  large  farm  and  a  large  family, 
— here  a  blessing  and  a  means  of  wealth,  too  often 
in  the  old  country  a  curse  and  a  burthen.  The 
good-n?tured  fellow  was  extremely  scandalized  by 
my  homely  and  temperate  fare,  which  he  besought 
me  to  mend  by  accepting  a  glass  of  whiskey  out  of 
his  own  travelling-store,  genuine  potheen,  which  he 
swore  deeply,  and  not  unpoetically,  "  had  never  seen 
God's  beautiful  world,  nor  the  blessed  light  of  day, 
since  it  had  been  bottled  in  ould  Ireland."  He  told 
me,  boastingly,  that  at  Hamilton  he  had  made  eight 
hundred  dollars  by  the  present  extraordinary  rise 
in  the  price  of  wheat.  In  the  early  part  of  the 
year,  wheat  had  been  selling  for  three  or  four  dollars 
a  bushel,  and  rose  thiti  summer  to  twelve  and  four- 
teen dollars  a  bushel,  owing  to  the  immense  quan- 
tities exported  during  the  winter  to  the  back  settle- 
ments of  Michigan  and  the  Illinois. 

The  whole  drive  would  have  been  productive  of 
unmixed  enjoyment,  but  for  one  almost  intolerable 


111 


■I! 


ROAD'MAKINCT. 


299 


ilraw-back.     The  roads  were  throughout  so  execra- 
bly bad,  that  no  words  can  give  you  an  idea  of  them. 
We  often  sank  into  mud-holes  abovfj  the  axletree  ; 
then  over  trunks  of  trees  laid  acrosy  swamps,  called 
here  corduroy  roads,  were  my  poor  bones  disloca- 
ted.   A  wheel  here  and  there,  or  broken  shaft  lying 
by  the  way-side,  told  of  former  wrecks  and  disas- 
ters.     In  some  places  they   had,   in   desperation, 
flung  huge  boughs  of  oak  into  the  mud  abyss,  and 
covered  them  with  clay  and  sod,  the  rich  green 
foliage  projecting  on  either  side.     This  sort  of  illu- 
sive contrivance  would  sometimes  ^ive  way,  and  we 
were  nearly  precipitated  in  the  midst.    By  the  time 
we   arrived  at  Blandford,  my  hands  were  swelled 
and  blistered  by  continually  grasping  with  all  my 
strength  an  iron  bar  in  front  of  my  vehicle,  to  pre- 
vent myself  from  being  flung   out,  and  my  limbic 
ached  wofuUy.     I  never  beheld  or  imagined  sucl: 
roads.     It  is  clear  that  the  people  do  not  apply  any, 
even  the  commonest,  principles  of  road-making ;  no 
drains  are  cut,  no  attempt  is  made  at  levelling  or 
preparing  a   foundation.     The  settlers  around   are 
too  much  engrossed  by  the  necessary  toil  for  a  daily 
•  subsistence  to  give  a  moment  of  their  time  lo  road- 
making,    without    compulsion    or    good    payment. 
Thr  statute  labor  does  not  appear  to  be  duly  en- 
forced by  the  commissioners  and   magistrates,  and 
there  are  no  laborers,  and  no  spare  money ;  specie, 
never  very  plentiful  in  these  parts,  is  not  to  be  had 
at  present,  and  the  500,000/.,  voted  during  the  last 
session  of  the  provincial  parliament  for  the  repair 
of  roads,  is  not  yet  even  raised,  I  b  elieve. 


1 V 


:;.!  ; 


r 


.(■  A' 


•I    .' 


T 


1 1 


300 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


ii' 


'It  1 

■iV" 
!    .'     , 

I   !■■     1 

(■  ;(  . 

ki 

w 

"41  n    ^     V    ! 

¥^ 

I 
I 

i 

i 
t.iltf 


fifdi 


ti    ;iJ 


I     : 


5    , 


i 


f''H'h, 

i.  - 

■   I    i,  ' 

■^1 

ill 

i..i..^i,^ 

Nor  is  this  all :  the  vile  state  of  the  roads,  the 
very  little  communication  between  places  not  far 
distant  from  each  other,  leave  it  in  the  power  of  ill- 
disposed  persons  to  sow  mischief  among  the  igno- 
rant, isolated  people. 

On  emerging  from  a  forest  road  seven  miles  in 
length,  we  stopped  at  a  little  inn  to  refresh  the 
poor  jaded  horses.  Several  laborers  were  lounging 
about  the  door,  and  I  spoke  to  them  of  the  horrible 
state  of  the  roads.  They  agreed,  one  and  all,  that 
it  was  entirely  the  fault  of  the  government ;  that 
their  welfare  was  not  cared  for ;  that  it  was  true 
that  money  had  been  voted  for  the  roads,  but  that 
before  any  thing  could  be  done,  or  a  shilling  of  it 
expended,  it  was  always  necessary  to  write  to  the 
old  country  to  ask  the  king's  permission — which 
might  be  sent  or  not — who  could  tell !  And  mean- 
time they  were  ruined  for  want  of  roads,  which  it 
was  nobody's  business  to  reclaim. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  attempted  to  point  out  to  the 
orator  of  the  party  the  falsehood  and  absurdity  of 
this  notion.  He  only  shook  his  head,  and  said  he 
knew  better. 

One  man  observed,  that  as  the  team  of  Admiral 
V (one  of  the  largest  proprietors  in  the  dis- 
trict) had  lately  broken  down  in  a  mud-hole,  there 
was  some  hope  that  the  roads  about  here  might  be 
looked  to. 

About  sunset,  I  arrived  at  Blandford,  dreadfully 
weary,  and  fevered,  and  bruised,  having  been  more 
than  nine  hours  travelling  twenty-five  miles  ;  and  I 
must  needs  own  that  not  all  my  savoir  faire  could 


ids,  the 
not  far 
;r  of  ill- 
le  igno- 

Tiiles  in 
•esh  the 
oungiug 
horrible 
all,  that 
nt;  that 
/as  true 
but  that 
ng  of  it 
a  to  the 
— which 
d  mean- 
which  it 

it  to  the 

rdity  of 

said  he 

Admiral 
the  dis- 
e,  there 
night  be 

eadfully 
en  more 
;  and  I 
re  could 


DLANDFORD. 


301 


prevent  me  from  feeling  rather  dejected  and  shy,  as 
I  drove  up  to  the  residence  of  a  gentleman, to  whom, 
indeed,  I  had  not  a  letter,  but  whoso  family,  as  I 
had  been  assured,  were  prepared  to  receive  me.  It 
was  rather  formidable  to  arrive  thus,  at  fall  of  night, 
a  wayfaring,  lonely  woman,  spiritless,  half-dead 
with  fatigue,  among  entire  strangers  :  but  my  recep- 
tion set  me  at  ease  in  a  moment.  The  words,  "  We 
have  been  long  expecting  you  !"  uttered  in  a  kind, 
cordial  voice,  sounded  "  like  sweetest  music  to  at- 
tending ears."  A  handsome,  elegant-looking  woman, 
blending  French  ease  and  politeness  with  English 
cordiality,  and  a  whole  brood  of  lively  children  of 
all  sizes  and  ages,  stood  beneath  the  porch  to  wel- 
come me  with  smiles  and  outstretched  hands.  Can 
you  imagine  my  bliss,  my  gratitude  1 — no ! — impos- 
sible, unless  you  had  travelled  for  three  days  through 
the  wilds  of  Canada.  In  a  few  hours  I  felt  quite  at 
home,  and  my  day  of  rest  was  insensibly  prolonged 
to  a  week,  spent  with  this  amiable  and  interesting 
family — a  week,  ever  while  1  live,  to  be  remembered 
with  pleasurable  and  grateful  feelings. 


The  region  of  Canada  in  wiiich  I  now  find  my- 
self, is  called  the  London  District ;  you  will  see  its 
situation  at  once  by  a  glance  on  the  map.  It  lies 
between  the  Gore  District  and  the  Western  District, 
having  to  the  south  a  large  extent  of  the  coast  of 
Lake  Erie  ;  and  on  the  north  the  Indian  territories, 
and  part  of  the  southern  shore  of  Lake  Huron.    It 

VOL.  I.  26 


.\\ . 


\ 


!■     •; 


"it- 


002 


SUMMKR    RAMUl.KS. 


is  watered  by  rivers  flowing  into  both  lakes,  but 
chiefly  by  the  river  Thames,  which  is  here  (about 
one  hundred  miles  from  its  mouth)  a  small  but  most 
^)oautiful  stream,  winding  like  the  Isis,  at  Oxford. 
Woodstock,  the  nearest  village,  as  1  suppose  I  must 
in  modesty  call  it,  is  fast  rising  into  an  important 
town,  and  the  whole  district  is,  for  its  scenery,  fer- 
tility, and  advantages  of  every  kind,  perhaps  the 
linest  in  Upper  Canada.* 

The  society  in  this  immediate  neighlx>rliood  is 
particularly  good  ;  several  gentlemen  of  family,  su- 
perior education,  and  large  capital,  (among  whom 
is  the  brother  of  an  English  and  the  son  of  an  Irish 
peer,  a  colonel  and  a  major  in  the  army,)  have  made- 
very  extensive  purchases  of  land,  and  their  estates 
are  in  flourishing  progress. 

One  day  we  drove  over  to  the  settlement  of  one 

of  these  magnificos,  Admiral  V ,  who  has  already 

expended  upwards  of  twenty  tliousand  pounds  in 
purchases  and  improvements.  His  house  is  really 
a  curiosity,  and  at  the  first  glance  reminded  me  of 
an  African  village — a  sort  of  Timbuctoo  set  down 
in  the  woods;  it  is  two  or  three  miles  from  the  high 
road,  in  the  midst  of  the  forest,  and  looked  as  if  a 
number  of  log-huts  had  jostled  against  each  other  by 
accident,  and  there  stuck  fast. 

The  admiral  had  begun,  I  imagine,  by  erecting, 
as  is  usual,  a  locf-house,  while  the  vvoods  were  clear- 
ing ;  then,  being  in  want  of  space,  he  added  an- 

*  The  nvernije  jiroduce  of  an  acre  of  land  is  greater  throiigli- 
out  Canada  than  in  England.  In  these  western  districts  greater 
than  in  the  rest  of  Canada. 


<cs,  but 
i  (about 
)ut  most 
Oxford. 
3  I  must 
iportant 
ery,  fer- 
inps  the 

•liood  is 
mUy,  sa- 
g  vvhoin 
an  Irish 
ve  made 
r  estates 

t  of  one 
»  ah'eady 
^unds  iu 
is  really 
ed  me  of 
et  down 
the  hish 
il  as  if  a 
other  by 

3recting, 
re  clear- 
Id  ed  an- 

r  throuffli- 
cts  irreater 


A    FORi;S T    CM  VTEAU. 


303 


oti;  ,  then  another  and  another,  and  so  on,  all  of 
dillerent  shapes  and  sizes,  and  full  of  a  seaman's 
contrivances — odd  galleries,  passage  •,  porticos,  cor- 
ridor.-!, saloons,  cabins  and  cupboards  ;  so  thnt  if  the 
outside  reminded  me  of  an  African  village,  the  iu' 
terior  was  no  less  like  that  of  a  man-of-war. 

The  drawing-room,  which  occupies  an  entire  build- 
ing, is  really  a  noble  room,  with  u  chinmey  in  which 
they  pile  twenty  oak   lo[|[s    at    once.     Around   this 
room  runs  a  gallery,  woll  lighted  with  windows  from 
without,  through  which   there  is  a  constant  circula- 
tion of  air,  keeping  the  room  warm  in  winter  and 
cool  in  summer.     The  admiral  has  besides  so  many 
ingenious  and   inexplicable  contrivances  for  warm- 
ing and  airing  his  house,  that  no  insurance  office 
will  insure  him  upon  any  terms.     Altogether  it  was 
the  most  strangely  picturesque  sort  of  dwelling  I 
ever  beheld,  and  could  boast  not  only  of  luxuries 
and  comforts,  such  as  are  seldom  found  so  far  inland, 
but  "  cosa  altra  piu  cava,"  or  at  least  "  pi ii  rara." 
The  admiral's  sister,  an  accomplished  woman  of  in- 
dependent fortune,  has  lately  arrived  from  Europe, 
to  take  up  her  residence  in  the  wilds.     Having  re- 
cently spent  some  yeais  in   Italy,  she  has  brought 
out  with   her  all   those  prelty  objects  of  virtu,  with 
which  English   travellers  loud    themselves   in  that 
country.     Here,   ranged  round  the  room,   I  found 
views  of  IJome   and  Naples  ;    tazzi,   and   marbles, 
and  sculpture  in  lava,  or  alabaster  ;  miniature  copies 
of  the  eternal  Sibyl  and  Cenci,  Ratlaelle'-  Vatican, 
tVc. — thinirs  not  wonderiul  nor  rare  in  themselves— 
the  wonder  was  too  see  them  here. 


I''' 


fli 


It.'  1  I 


1, 

1 


I 


304 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


i; 


The  woods  are  yet  close  up  to  the  house  ;  hwt 
there j9  a  fine  well-cultivated  garden,  and  the  pro- 
cess of  clearing  and  log-burning  proceeds  all  around 
with  great  animation. 

The  good  admiral,  who  is  no  longer  young—  au 
contraire — has  i-ecently  astonished  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood— nay,  the  whole  province,  by  taking  to  him- 
self a  young,  very  young  wife,  of  a  station  very  in- 
ferior to  his  own.  Thei'e  have  been  considerable 
doubts  in  the  neighborhood  as  to  the  propriety  of 
visiting  the  young  lady — doubts  which  appear  to 
me  neither  reasonable  nor  good-natured,  and  which 
will,  no  doubt,  give  way  before  the  common  sense 
and  kind  feeling  of  the  people.  Selden  might  well 
say,  that  of  all  the  actions  of  a  man's  life,  his  mar- 
riage was  that  in  which  others  had  the  least  concern, 
and  were  sure  to  meddle  the  most !  If  this  gen- 
tleman be  unhappy,  he  has  committed  a  folly,  and 
will  be  punished  for  it  sufHciently  without  the  inter- 
ference of  his  friends  and  neighbors.  If  he  be 
happy,  and  they  say  he  is,  then  he  has  committed 
no  folly,  and  may  laugh  at  them  ^11  round.  His 
good  sister  has  come  out  to  countenance  him  and 
his  menage — a  proof  equally  of  her  affection  and 
her  understanding.  I  can  now  only  wish  her  a  con- 
tinuance of  the  same  cheerfulness,  fortitude  and 
perseverance  she  has  hitherto  shown — virtues  very 
necessary  in  this  new  province. 

On  Sunday,  we  attended  the  pretty  little  church 
at  Woodstock,  which  was  filled  by  the  neighboring 
settlers  of  all  classes  :  the  service  was  well  read, 
and  the  hymns  were  sung  by  the  ladies  of  the  con- 


WOODSTOCK    CHURCH. 


305 


ii 


'hi 


se  ;  but 
the  pro- 

I  around 

ing—  au 
e  neigh- 
<;  to  him- 
very  in- 
iderable 
)riety  of 
pear  to 
d  which 
n  senae 
ght  well 
his  mar- 
concern, 
his  gen- 
lly,  and 
le  inter- 
he  be 
mmitted 
d.  His 
him  and 
ion  and 
r  a  con- 
idc  and 
ics  very 

!  church 
;hboring 

II  read, 
;he  con- 


grqgation.  The  sermon,  which  treated  of  some 
abstract  and  speculative  point  of  theology,  seemed 
to  me  not  well  adapted  to  the  sort  of  congregation 
assembled.  The  situation  of  those  who  had  here 
rnet  together  to  seek  a  new  existence  in  a  new  world, 
might  have  afforded  topics  of  instruction,  praise, 
and  gratitude,  far  more  practical,  more  congenial, 
more  intelligible  than  a  mere  controversial  essay  on 
a  disputed  text,  which  elicited  no  remark  nor  sym- 
pathy that  1  could  perceive.  After  the  service,  the 
congregation  remained  some  time  assembled  before 
the  church-door,  in  various  and  interesting  groups 
— the  well-dressed  families  of  settlers  who  had  come 
from  many  miles'  distance,  in  vehicles  well-suited  to 
the  roads — that  is  to  say,  carts,  or,  as  they  call  then; 
here,  teams  or  wagons  ;  the  belles  and  the  beaux  of 
"  the  Bush,"  in  Sunday  trim — and  innumerable 
children.  Many  were  the  greetings  and  inquiries  ; 
the  news  and  gossip  of  all  the  neighborhood  had  to 
be  exchanged.  The  conversation  among  the  ladies 
was  of  marriages  and  births — lamentations  on  the 
want  of  servants  and  the  state  of  the  roads — the 
last  arrival  of  letters  from  England — and  specula- 
tions upon  the  character  of  a  new  neighbor  come  to 
settle  in  the  Bush:  Among  the  gentlemen,  it  was  of 
crops  and  clearings,  lumber,  price  of  wheat,  road- 
mending,  deer-shooting,  log-burning,  and  so  forth — 
subjects  in  which  I  felt  a  lively  interest  and  curiosi- 
ty ;  and  if  I  could  not  take  a  very  brilliant  and  pro- 
minent part  in  the  discourse,  I  could  it  least  listen, 
like  the  Irish  corn-field,  "  with  all  my  ears." 

I  think  it  was  this  day  at  dinner  that  a  gentleman 

*26* 


it  ■ 

i 


!  if 

Mr 


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'  1 


i 


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P 

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30G 


SUMSIER    RAinBLE.3. 


described  to  me  a  family  of  Mohawk  Indians,  con- 
sisting of  seven  individuals,  who  had  encamped  upon 
some  of  his  uncleared  land  in  two  wigwams.  They 
had  made  their  first  appearance  in  the  early  spring, 
and  had  since  subsisted  by  hunting,  selling  their 
venison  for  whiskey  or  tobacco;  their  appearance 
and  situation  were,  he  said,  most  wretched,  and  their 
indolence  extreme.  Within  three  months,  five  out 
of  the  seven  were  dead  of  consumption  ;  two  only 
were  left — languid,  squalid,  helpless,  hopeless, 
heartless. 


V. 


i  s^ 


FOREST    JOl'RNEY. 


307 


H 


t^l 


*  ' 

.' ' 


After  several  pleasant  and  interesting  visits  to  tlie 
neighboring  settlers,  I  took  leave  of  my  hospitable 
friends  at  Blandford  with  deep  and  real  regret ;  and, 
in  the  best  and  only  vehicle  which  could  be  procur- 
ed— videlicet,  a  baker's  cart — set  out  for  London,  the 
chief  town  of  the  district ;  the  distance  being  about 
thirty  miles — a  long  day's  journey  j  the  cost  seven 
dollars. 

The  man  who  drove  me  proved  a  very  intelligent 
and  civilized  person.  He  had  come  out  to  Canada 
in  the  capacity  of  a  gentleman's  servant ;  he  now 
owned  some  land — I  forget  how  many  acres — and 
was  besides  baker-general  for  a  large  neighborhood, 
rarely  receiving  money  in  pay,  but  wheat  and  other 
farm  produce.  He  had  served  as  constable  of  the 
district  for  two  years,  and  gave  me  some  interesting 
accounts  of  his  thief-taking  expeditions  through  the 
wild  forests  in  the  deep  winter  nights.  He  consi- 
dered himself,  on  the  whole,  a  prosperous  man.  He 
said  he  should  be  quite  happy  here,  were  it  not  for 
his  wife,  who  fretted  and  pined  continually  after  her 
"  home." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  surely  wherever  you  are,  is  her 
7iome,  and  she  ought  to  be  happy  where  she  sees  you 
getting  on  better,  and  enjoying  more  of  comfort  and 
independence  than  you  could  have  hoped  to  obtain 
in  the  old  country." 

"Well,  yes,"  said  he,  hesitatingly;  "and  I  can't 


1 1ll 

i\ 


>'i 


\    ' 


308 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


ilvlj 


!'l 


H  I 


say  but  that  my  wife  is  a  good  woman  :  I've  no  par- 
ticular fault  to  find  with  her ;  and  it's  very  natural 
she  should  mope,  for  she  has  no  friend  or  acquaint- 
ance, you  see,  and  she  doesn't  take  to  the  people, 
and  the  ways  here  ;  and  at  home  she  had  her  mother 
and  her  sisLer  to  talk  to ;  they  lived  v.ith  v.o,  you  see. 
Theij,  I'm  out  all  day  long,  looking  after  my  busi- 
ness, and  she  feels  quite  lonely  like,  and  she's  a  cry- 
ing when  I  come  back — and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  to  do !" 

The  case  of  this  poor  fellow  with  his  dicontented 
wife  is  of  no  unfrequenl  occurrence  in  Canada  ;  and 
among  the  better  class  of  settlers  the  matter  is  worse 
still,  the  suffering  more  acute,  and  of  graver  conse- 
quences. 

I  have  not  often  in  my  life  met  with  contented  and 
cheerful-minded  women,  but  I  never  met  with  so 
many  repining  and  discontented  women  asin  Canada. 
I  never  met  with  one  woman  recently  settled  here, 
who  considered  herself  happy  in  her  new  home  and 
country :  1  heard  of  one,  and  doubtless  there  are 
others,  but  they  are  exceptions  to  the  general  rule. 
Those  born  here,  or  brought  here  early  by  their  pa- 
rents and  relations,  seemed  to  me  very  hapj)y,  and 
many  of  them  had  adopted  a  sort  of  pride  in  their 
new  country,  which  I  liked  much.  There  was 
always  a  great  desire  to  visit  England,  and  some 
little  airs  of  self-complacency  and  superiority  in  those 
who  had  been  there,  though  for  a  few  months  only  j 
but  all,  without  a  single  exception,  returned  with 
pleasure,  unable  to  forego  the  early  habitual  influ- 
ences of  their  native  land. 


WOMEN    IN    'J  ANA  DA. 


309 


I  like  patriotism  and  nationality  in  women. 
Among  the  German  women  both  these  feelings  give 
a  strong  tincture  to  the  character  ;  and,  seldom  disu- 
nited, they  blend  with  peculiar  grace  in  our  sex : 
but  with  a  great  statesman  they  should  stand  well 
distinguished.  Nationality  is  not  always  patriotism, 
and  patriotism  is  not,  necessarily,  nationality.  The 
English  are  more  patriotic  than  national ;  the  Ame- 
ricans generally  more  national  than  patriotic ;  the 
Germans  both  national  and  patriotic. 

I  have  observed  that  really  accomplished  women, 
accustomed  to  what  is  called  the  best  society,  have 
more  resources  here,  and  manage  better,  than  some 
women  who  have  no  pretensions  of  any  kind,  and 
whose  claims  to  social  distinction  could  nothavebeen 
great  any  where,  but  whom  I  found  lamenting  over 
themselves  as  if  they  liarl  been  so  mrny  exiled  prin- 
cesses. 

Can  you  imagine  the  position  of  a  fretful,  frivo- 
lous woman,  strong  neither  in  mind  nor  frame,  aban- 
doned to  her  own  resources  in  the  wilds  of  Upper 
Canada  1  I  do  not  believe  you  can  imagine  any 
thing  so  pitiable,  so  ridiculous,  and,  to  borrov,  the 
Canadian  word,  '*  so  shiftless." 

My  new  friend  and  kind  hostess  was  a  being  of 
quite  a  different  stamp  ;  and  though  I  believe  she 
was  far  from  thinking  that  she  had  found  in  Canada 
a  terrestrial  paradise,  and  the  want  of  servants  and 
the  difficulty  of  educating  her  family  as  she  wished, 
were  subjects  of  great  annoyance  to  her,  yet  these 
and  other  evils  she  had  met  with  a  cheerful  spirit. 
Here,  amid    these  forest  wilds,  she  had    recently 


l*^,« 


i!i 


i-.  ► 


>  i  m 


■:■ 


1    . 


3- 

H 

;  i 


a 


! 


'■  I 


DIO 


SUMMER    RAMBLE8. 


i>  ■, 


:V"":i 


given  birth  to  a  lovely  baby,  the  tentli,  or  indeed  I 
believe  the  twelfth  of  a  flock  of  manly  boys  and 
blooming  girls.  Her  eldest  daughter  mean  time,  a 
fair  and  elegant  girl,  was  acquiring,  at  the  age  ol" 
fifteen,  qualities  and  habits  which  might  well  make 
ample  amends  for  the  possessing  of  mere  accom- 
plishments. She  acted  as  a  manager  in  chief,  and 
glided  about  in  her  household  avocations  with  a  se- 
rene and  quiet  grace  which  was  (juite  charming. 

The  road,  after  leaving  Woodstock,  pursued  the 
course  of  the  wini'ing  Thames.  We  passed  by  the 
house  of  Colonel  Light,  in  asituation  of  superlative 
natural  beauty  on  a  rising-ground  above  the  river. 
A  lawn,  tolerably  cleared,  sloped  down  to  the  mar- 
gin, while  the  opposite  shore  rose  clothed  in  varied 
woods  which  had  been  managed  with  great  taste, 
and  a  feelinrr  for  thp  pictiirosqiio  not  rnmmnn  lifire  ; 
but  the  Colonel  being  himself  an  accomplished 
artist  accounts  for  this.  W^e  also  passed  Beechvillc 
a  small,  but  beautiful  village,  round  which  the  soil 
is  reckoned  very  fine  and  fertile  ;  a  number  of  most 
respectable  settlers  have  recently  bought  land  and 
erected  houses  here.  The  next  place  we  came  to 
was  Oxford,  or  rather,  Ingersol,  where  we  stopped 
to  dine  and  rest  previous  to  plunging  into  an  ex- 
tensive forest,  called  the  Pine  Woods. 


Oxford 


IS  a 


little 


e   village,   pre.senting  the   usu 


th 


n 


saw-mill,  grocery-store  and  tavern,  with  a  doze 
shanties  congregated  on  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
which  is  here  rapid  and  confined  by  high  banks. 
Two  back-woodsmen  were  in  deep  consultation  over 
a  waofon  which    had   broken  down  in   the  midst  of 


THE    PIiVE-WOODS. 


311 


that  very  forest  road  we  wore  about  to  traverse, 
and  which  they  described  as  most  execrable — in 
some  parts  even  dangerous.  As  it  was  necessary 
to  gird  up  my  strength  for  the  undertaking,  I  laid 
in  a  good  dinner,  consisting  of  slices  of  dried  veni- 
son, broiled;  hot  cakes  of  Indian  corn,  eggs,  butter, 
and  a  bowl  of  milk.  Of  this  good  fare  1  partook 
in  company  with  the  two  back-woodsmen,  who  ap- 
peared to  me  perfect  specimens  of  their  class — tall 
and  strong,  and  bronzed  and  brawny,  and  shaggy 
and  unshaven — very  much  like  two  bears  set  on 
their  hind  legs ;  rude  but  not  uncivil,  and  spare  of 
speech,  as  men  who  had  lived  long  at  a  distance 
from  their  kind.  They  were  too  busy,  however, 
and  so  was  I,  to  feel  or  express  any  mutual  curi- 
osity ;  time  was  valuable,  appetite  urgent — so  we 
discussed  our  venison  steaks  in  silence,  and  after 
dinner  I  proceeded. 

The  forest  land  through  which  I  had  lately  pass- 
ed, was  principally  covered  with  hard  tiinhcr^  as 
oak,  walnut,  elm,  basswood.  We  were  now  in  a 
forest  of  pines,  rising  tall  and  dark,  and  monotonoui 
on  cither  side.  The  road  worse  certainly  "  than 
fancy  ever  feigned  or  fear  conceived,"  put  my  neck 
in  perpetual  jeopardy.  The  diiver  had  often  to  dis- 
mount, and  partly  fill  up  some  tremendous  hole 
with  boughs  before  we  could  pass — or  drag  or  lift 
the  wagon  over  trunks  of  trees — or  we  sometimes 
sank  into  abysses,  from  which  it  is  a  wonder  to  me 
that  we  ever  emerged.  A  natural  question  were— 
why  did  you  not  get  out  and  walk  1 — Yes  indeed  ! 
I  only  wish  it   had    been    possible.     Immediately 


ill 


;i 


Ms 


IT    — 


\lk 


%  'I 


'«  , 


t 


312 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


on  the  border  of  the  road  so  called,  was  the  wild, 
tangled,  untrodden  thicket,  ;s  impervious  to  the  foot 
as  the  road  was  impassable,  rich  with  vegetation, 
variegated  verdure,  and  flowers  of  loveliest  dye, 
but  the  haunt  of  tho  rattlesnake,  and  all  manner 
of  creeping  and  living  things  not  pleasant  to  en- 
counter, or  even  to  think  of. 

The  mosquitos,  too,  began  to  be  trouble- ome  ; 
but  not  being  yet  in  full  force,  I  contrived  to  defend 
myself  pretty  well,  by  waving  a  green  branch  be- 
fore me  whenever  my  two  hands  were  not  employ- 
ed in  forcible  endeavors  to  keep  my  seat.  These 
seven  miles  of  pine  forests  we  traversed  in  three 
hours  and  a  half;  and  then  succeeded  some  miles 
of  open  flat  country,  called  the  oak  plains,  and  so 
called  because  covei'ed  with  thickets  and  groups  of 
oak,  dispersed  with  a  park-like  and  beautiful  ef- 
fect; and  still  flowers,  flowers  everywhere.  The 
soil  appeared  sandy,  and  hot  so  rich  as  in  other 
parts.*  The  road  was  comparatively  good,  and  as 
we  approached  London,  clearing  new  settlements 
appeared  on  every  side. 

The  sun  had  set  amid  a  tumultuous  mass  of  lurid 
threatening  clouds,  and  a  tempest  was  brooding  in 
the  air,  when  I  reached  the  town,  and  found  very 
tolerable   accommodations  in  the  principal  inn.     I 

*  It  is  not  the  most  open  land  which  is  most  desirable  for  a 
settler.  "  The  land,"  says  Dr.  Dunlop  in  his  admirable  little 
book,  "  is  rich  and  lasting,  just  in  proportion  to  the  size  and 
quantity  of  the  timber  which  it  bears,  and  therefore  the  )norc 
trouble  he  is  put  to  it  in  clcarin;:^  his  land,  the  better  will  it  re- 
pay him  the  labor  he  has  expended  on  it." 


1 


MISS    MARTINEAU. 


313 


was  so  teriibly  bruised  and  beaten  with  fatigue, 
that  to  move  was  impossible,  and  even  to  speak, 
too  great  an  effort.  I  cast  my  weary  aching  limbs 
upon  the  bed,  and  requested  of  the  very  civil  and 
obliging  young  lady  who  attended  to  bring  me  some 
books  and  newspapers.  She  brought  me  thereupon 
an  old  compendium  of  geography,  published  at  Phi- 
ladelphia forty  years  ago,  and  three  newspapers. 
Two  of  these,  the  London  Gazette  and  the  Free- 
man's Journal,  are  printed  and  published  within  the 
district;  the  third,  the  New- York  Albion,  I  have 
already  mentioned  to  you  as  having  been  my  delight 
and  consolation  at  Toronto.  This  paper,  an  exten- 
sive double  folio,  is  compiled  for  the  use  of  the  Bri- 
tish settlers  in  the  United  States,  and  also  in  Canada, 
where  it  is  widely  circulated.  It  contains  all  the 
interesting  public  news  in  extracts  from  the  leading 
English  journals,  with  tales,  essays,  reviews,  &c., 
from  the  periodicals.  Think,  now,  if  I  had  not  reason 
to  bless  newspapers  and  civilization!  Imagine  me 
alone  in  the  very  centre  of  this  vast  wild  country,  a 
storm  raging  without,  as  if  heaven  and  earth  had 
come  in  collision — lodged  and  cared  for,  reclining 
on  a  neat  comfortable  bed,  and  reading  by  *he  light 
of  one  tallow  candle,  (for  there  was  a  scarcity  either 
of  candles  or  of  candlesticks,)  Sergeant  Talfourd's 
speech  in  the  Commons  for  the  alteration  of  the  law 
of  copyright,  given  at  full  length,  and  if  I  had  been 
worse  than  "  kilt  entirely,"  his  noble  eulogy  o^^ 
Wordsworth  responded  to  by  the  cheers  of  the  whole 
house,  would  have  brought  me  to  life ;  so  did  it 
make  my  very  heart  glow  with  approving  :.ympathy. 
VOL.  I.  27 


1 .1 

'  II! 


Mil 


r  m 


jji,  ■ 


',   I  ' 


;  1 


'U'l    : 


DM  r 


314 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


In  the  same  paper,  and  in  the  two  provincial  pa- 
pers, I  found  whole  columns  extracted  from  Miss 
Martineau's  long  expected  book  on  America.  What 
I  now  read,  fulfilled  the  highest  expectations  I  had 
previously  formed.  There  will,  of  course,  be  diver- 
sity of  opinion  on  many  points ;  but  one  thing  is 
clear  ;  that  she  is  a  good  woman,  and  a  lover  of  truth 
for  truth's  sake ;  and  that  she  has  written  in  a  good 
and  womanly  Sjjirit,  candid  and  kind  ; — stern  some- 
times, never  sharp,  never  satirical.  There  is  in  these 
passages  at  least,  an  even  tone  of  good-nature  and 
good  temper — of  high  principle  and  high  feeling  of 
every  kind,  which  has  added  to  my  admiration  of  her, 
and  makes  me  long  more  than  ever  to  see  the  book 
itself.  There  are  things  in  it,  apparently,  which 
will  not  yet  be  appreciated — but  all  in  good  time. 

With  regard  to  the  law  of  copyright,  I  see  in 
another  part  of  the  paper  that  the  publisher?  liave 
taken  the  alarm,  and  are  beginning  to  bestir  them- 
selves against  it.  We  shall  have  them  crying  out 
like  the  French  actresses,  "  C'est  une  chose  eton- 
nante  qu'on  ne  trouve  pas  un  moyen  de  se  passer 
d'auteurs  !"  Perhaps  the  best  thing  at  this  moment 
for  all  parties  would  be  an  international  law,  which 
should  protect  both  authors  and  publishers ;  for  if 
they  have  no  respect  for  the  property  which  is  the 
mere  produre  of  the  brain,  perhaps  they  will  res- 
pect and  acknowledge  the  existence  of  property  for 
which  a  man  can  prove  he  has  paid  hard  money. 


;  ^i, 


n 


LONDON. 


315 


icial  pa- 
)m  Miss 
What 
ns  I  had 
)e  diver- 
thins:  is 
of  truth 
1  a  good 
rn  sorae- 
iu  these 
;ure  and 
3eling  of 
n  of  her, 
the  book 
r,   which 
[1  lime. 
I  see  in 
0X5  Ijave 
in  them- 
ying  out 
3se  eton- 
3  passer 
moment 
V,  which 
s ;  for  if 
3h  is  the 
will  res- 
)erty  for 
)ney. 


July  5. 

The  next  morning  the  weather  continued  very- 
lowering  and  stormy.  I  wrote  out  my  little  journal 
for  you  carefully  thus  far,  and  thcMi  I  received  several 
visiters,  who  hearing  of  my  arrival,  had  come  with 
kind  offers  of  hospitality  and  attention,  such  as  are 
most  grateful  to  a  solitary  stranger.  I  had  also  much 
conversation  relative  to  the  place  and  people,  and 
the  settlements  around,  and  then  I  took  a  long  walk 
about  the  town,  of  which  I  here  give  you  the  re- 
sults. 

When  Governor  Simcoe  was  planning  the  foun- 
dation  of  a  capital  for  the  whole  province,  he  fixed 
at  first  upon  the  present  site  of  London,  struck  by 
its  many  and  obvious  advantages.  Its  central  posi- 
tion, in  the  midst  of  these  great  lakes,  being  at  an 
equal  distance  from  Huron,  Erie,  and  Ontario,  in 
the  finest  and  most  fertile  district  of  the  whole  pro- 
vince, on  the  bank  of  a  beautiful  stream,  and  at  a 
safe  distance  from  the  frontier,  all  pointed  it  out  aa 
the  most  eligible  site  for  a  metropolis ;  but  there 
was  the  want  of  land  and  water  communication — a 
want  which  still  remains  the  only  drawback  to  its 
rising  prosperity.  A  canal  or  rail-i'oad,  running 
from  Toronto  and  Hamilton  to  London,  then  branch- 
ing off  on  the  right  to  the  harl  or  of  Goderich  on 
Lake  Huron,  and  on  the  left  to  Sandwich  on  Lake 
Erie,  were  a,  glorious  thing  ! — the  one  thing  need- 


H 


'  ,'  fl 


I 


i ; 


t 


ai6 


SUMMER    RAMBLE9. 


;  'i.  ^'    < 


ful  to  make  this  fine  country  the  granary  and  store^ 
house  of  the  west ;  for  here  all  grain,  all  fruits  which 
flourish  in  the  south  of  Europe,  might  be  cultivated 
with  success — the  finest  wheat  and  rice,  and  hemp 
and  flax,  and  tobacco.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  want, 
soon,  I  trust,  to  be  supplied,  the  town  of  London 
has  sprung  up  and  become  within  ten  years  a  place 
of  great  importance.  In  size  and  population  it  ex- 
ceeds every  town  I  have  yet  visited,  except  Toronto 
and  Hamilton.  The  first  houae  was  erected  in  1827  j 
it  now  contains  more  than  two  hundred  frame  or 
brick  houses ;  and  there  are  many  mope  building. 
The  population  may  be  about  thirteen  hundred  peo- 
ple. The  jail  and  court-house,  comprised  in  one 
large  stately  edifice,  seemed  the  glory  of  the  towns- 
people. As  for  the  style  of  architecture,  I  may  not 
attempt  to  name  or  describe  it ;  but  a  gentleman 
informed  me,  in  rather  equivocal  phrase,  that  it  was 
"  somewhat  goikic."  There  are  five  places  of  wor- 
ship, for  the  Episco.palians,  Presbyterians,  Metho- 
dists, Roman  Catholics,  and  Baptists.  The  church 
is  handsome.  There  are  also  three  or  four  schools, 
and  seven  taverns.  The  Thames  is  very  beautiful 
here,  and  navigable  for  boats  and  barges.  I  saw 
to-day  a  large  limber  raft  floating  down  the  stream, 
containing  many  thousand  feet  of  timber.  On  the 
whole,  I  have  nowhere  seen  such  evident  signs  of 
progress  and  prosperity. 

The  population  consists  principally  of  artisans — 
as  blacksmiths,  carpenters,  builders,  all  flourishing. 
There  is,  I  fear,  a  good  deal  of  drunkenness  and  pro- 
fligacy; for  though  the  people  have  work  and  wealth, 


LONDON. 


317 


tlioy  liavo  ncltlior  educatioti  nor  amusements.*  Re- 
sides tlic  seven  taverns,  there  is  a  number  of  little 
grocery  stores,  which  arc,  in  fact,  drinking  houses. 
And  though  u  law  exists,  which  forbids  the  sale  of 
spirituous  liquors  in  small  cjuantitics  by  any  but  li- 
censed publicans,  they  easily  contrive  to  elude  tho 
law  ;  as  thus  : — a  customer  enters  the  shop,  and  asks 
for  two  or  three  pennyworth  of  nuts,  or  cakes,  and 
he  receives  a  few  nuts,  and  a  large  glass  of  whiskey. 
The  whiskey,  you  observe,  is  given,  not  sold,  and  no 
one  can  swear  to  the  contrary.  In  the  same  man- 
ner the  severe  law  against  selling  intoxicating  li- 
quors to  the  poor  Indians  is  continually  eluded  or 
violated,  and  there  is  no  redress  for  the  injured,  no 
punishment  to  reach  the  guilty.  It  appears  to  me 
that  the  government  should  be  more  careful  in  the 
choice  of  the  district  magistrates.  While  I  was  in 
London,  a  person  who  had  acted  in  this  capacity 
was  carried  from  the  pavement  dead  drunk. 

Here,  as  every  where  else,  I  find  the  women  of  the 


♦  Hear  Dr.  Channiiig,  the  wise  and  the  good: — "  People,"  he 
says,  "  should  be  i^uardcd  against  temptation  to  unlawful  plea- 
sures by  furnishing  tho  means  of  innocent  ones.  In  every  com-i 
munity,  ihavc  ynuslhi  [)lcasures,  relaxations,  and  means  of  agreea- 
ble excitement;  and  if  innocent  arc  not  furnislied,  resort  will  be 
had  to  criminal.  Man  was  made  to  enjoy  as  well  as  to  labors 
and  the  state  of  society  should  be  adapted  to  this  principle  of  hu- 
man nature."  "  Men  drink  to  excess  very  often  to  shake  oft'de-. 
pression,  or  to  satisfy  the  restless  thirst  for  agreeable  excilementj 
and  these  motives  are  excluded  in  a  cheerful  community." 

When  I  was  in  Upper  Canada,  I  found  no  means  wliatevcr 
of  social  amusement  for  any  class,  except  that  which  the  tavcrCi 
afforded  ;  taverns  consequently  abounded  every  where. 

21* 


% 


1        ■    ' 

1 

, 

1      ; 
1 

11 

•  i 

318 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


better  class  lamenting  over  llie  want  of  all  society, 
except  of  the  lowest  grade  in  manners  and  morals. 
For  those  who  have  recently  emigrated,  and  are  set- 
tled more  in  the  interior,  there  is  absolutely  no  so- 
cial intercourse  whatever;  it  is  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. They  seem  to  me  perishing  of  ennui,  or  from 
the  want  of  sympathy  which  they  cannot  obtain,  and, 
what  is  worse,  which  they  cannot  feel ;  for  being  in 
general  unfitted  for  out-door  occupations,  unable  to 
comprehend  or  enter  into  the  interests  around  them, 
and  all  their  earliest  prejudices  and  ideas  of  the  fit- 
ness of  things  continually  outraged  in  a  manner  ex- 
ceedingly unpleasant,  they  may  be  said  to  live  in  a 
perpetual  state  of  inward  passive  discord  and  fretful 
endurance — 

"  All  too  timid  and  reserved 
For  onset,  for  resistance  too  inert— 
Too  weak  for  suffering,  and  for  hope  too  tame." 

A  gentleman,  well  known  to  me  by  name,  who 
was  not  a  resident  in  London,  but  passing  through  it 
on  his  way  from  a  far  western  settlement  up  by  Lake 
Huron,  was  one  of  my  morning  visiters.  He  had 
been  settled  in  the  Bush  for  five  years,  had  a  beauti- 
ful farm,  well  cleared,  well  stocked.  He  was  pleas- 
ed with  his  prospects,  his  existence,  his  occupations  : 
all  he  wanted  was  a  wife,  and  on  this  subject  he  pour- 
ed forth  a  most  eloquent  appeal. 

"  Where,"  said  he,  "  shall  I  find  such  a  wife  as  1 
could,  with  a  safe  conscience,  bring  into  these  wilds, 
to  share  a  settler's  fate,  a  settler's  home  ?     You, 


;i 


WOMEN    IN    CANADA. 


319 


who  know  your  own  sex  so  well,  point  me  out  such 
a  one,  or  tell  me  at  least  where  to  seek  her.     I  am 
perishing    and  deteriotating,  head    and    heart,  for 
want  of  a  companion — a  wife,  in  short.     I  am  be- 
coming as  rude  and  coarse  as  my  own  laborers,  and 
as  hard  as  my  own  axe.     If  1  wait  five  years  longer, 
no  woman  will  be  able  to  endure  such  a  fellow  as  I 
shall  be  by  that  time — no  woman,  I  mean,  whom  I 
could  marry — for  in  this  lies  my  utter  unreasonable- 
ness; habituated  to  seek  in  woman  those  graces  and 
relinements  which  I  have  always  associated  with 
her  idea,  I  must  have  them  here  in  the  forest,  or 
dispense  with  all  female  society  whatever.     With 
Bome  one  to  sympathize  with  me — to  talk  to — to 
embellish  the  home  I  return  to  at  night — such  a  life 
as  1  now  lead,  with  all  the  cares  and  frivolities  of  a 
too  artificial  society  cast  behind  us,  security  and 
plenty  all  around  us,  and  nothlpg  but  hope  before 
us,  a  life  of  "  cheerful  yesterdays  and  confident  to- 
morrows"— were  it  not  delicious]  I  want  for  myself 
nothing  more,  nothing  better ;   but — perhaps  it  is  a 
weakness,  an  inconsistency  ! — I  could  not  love  a 
woman  who  was  inferior  to  all  my  preconceived  no- 
tions of  feminine  elegance  and  refinement — inferior 
to  my  own  mother  and  sisters.    You  know  I  was  in 
England  two  years  ago; — well,  I  have  a  vision  of  a 
beautiful  creature,  with  the  figure  of  a  sylph  and 
the  head  of  a  sibyl,  bending  over  her  harp,  and  sing- 
ing "  A  te,  O  cara  ;"  and  when  I  am  logging  in  the 
woods  with  my  men,  I  catch  myself  meditating  on 
that  vision,  and  humming  A  tc,  O  cara,  which  some- 
how or  other  runs  strangely  in  my  head.     Now, 


1      T 

M: 


i\'A 


I! 


IM^ 


nil  * 


I- 


5^ 


•    ii  i  ; 

1 

'J 
i    1"      1 

t. 

H:\ 


\'*h 


m  I 


■ 

i 

' 

f? 

',  '  ^ 

'!:  !. 

: 

. 

'I 

■ 

\ 

:     4. 

•  i  ?' 

1 

]| 

ri':l 

i| 

■  j 

J 

1  L      \        .M. 

320 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


what  is  to  be  done'?  What  could  I  do  with  that  fair 
vision  here  1  Without  coxcombry  may  I  not  say, 
that  I  need  not  entirely  despair  of  winning  the 
affections  of  an  amiable,  elegant  woman,  and  might 
even  persuade  her  to  confront,  for  my  sake,  worse 
than  all  this?  For  what  will  not  your  sex  do  and 
dare  for  the  sake  of  us  men  creatures,  savages  that 
we  are  ]  But  even  for  that  reason  shall  I  take  ad- 
vantage of  such  sentiments  ?  You  know  what  this 
life  is — this  isolated  life  in  the  Bush — and  so  do  I ; 
but  by  what  words  could  I  make  it  comprehensible 
to  a  fine  lady  1  Certainly  I  might  draw  such  a 
picture  of  it  as  should  delight  by  its  novelty  and 
romance,  and  deceive  even  while  it  does  not  deviate 
from  the  truth.  A  cottasje  in  the  wild  woods — soli- 
tude  and  love — the  world  forgetting,  by  the  world 
forgot — the  deer  come  skipping  by — the  red  Indian 
brings  game,  and  lays  it  at  her  feet — how  pretty  and 
how  romantic !  And  for  the  first  few  months,  per- 
haps the  first  year,  all  goes  well ;  but  how  goes  it 
the  next,  and  the  next  1  I  have  observed  with  re- 
gard to  the  women  who  come  out,  that  they  do  well 
enough  the  first  year,  and  some  even  the  second ; 
but  the  third  is  generally  fatal :  and  the  worst  with 
you  women — or  the  best  shall  I  not  say  ? — is,  that 
you  cannot,  and  do  not,  forget  domestic  ties  left  be- 
hind. We  men  go  out  upon  our  land,  or  to  the 
chase,  and  the  women,  poor  souls,  sit,  and  sew,  and 
thin/i.  You  have  seen  Mrs.  A.  and  Mr?.  B.,  who 
came  out  here,  as  I  well  remember,  full  of  health 
and  bloom — what  are  they  now  1  premature  old 
women,  sickly,  care-worn,  without  nerve  or  cheer-^ 


r  in 


WOMEN   IN   CANADA. 


321 


might 


fulness  : — and  as  for  C ,  who  brought  his  wife 

to  his  place  by  Lake  Simcoe  only  three  years  ago, 
I  hear  the  poor  fellow  must  sell  all  off,  or  see  his 
wife  perish  before  his  eyes.  Would  you  have  me 
risk  the  alternative  1  Or  perhaps  you  will  say, 
marry  one  of  the  women  of  the  country — one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  Bush.  No,  I  cannot ;  I  must  have 
something  different.  I  may  not  have  been  particu- 
larly fortunate,  but  the  women  I  have  seen  are  in 
general  coarse  and  narrow  minded,  with  no  educa- 
tion whatever,  or  with  an  education  which  apes  all 
I  most  dislike,  and  omits  all  I  could  admire  in  the 
fashionable  education  of  the  old  country.  What 
could  I  do  with  such  women  %  In  the  former  I 
might  find  an  upper  servant,  but  no  companion — in 
the  other,  neither  companionship  nor  help  !" 

To  this  discontented  and  fastidious  gentleman  I 
ventured  to  recommend  two  or  three  very  amiable 
girls  I  had  known  at  Toronto  and  Niagara  ;  and  I 
told  him,  too,  that  among  the  beautiful  and  spirited 
girls  of  New-England,  he  might  also  find  what 
would  answer  his  purpose.  But  with  regard  to 
Englishwomen  of  that  grade  in  station  and  educa- 
tion, and  personal  attraction,  which  would  content 
him,  I  could  not  well  speak;  not  because  I  knew  of 
none  who  united  grace  of  person  and  lively  talents 
with  capabilities  of  strong  affection,  ay,  and  suffi- 
cient energy  of  character  to  meet  trials  and  endure 
privations;  but  in  women,  as  now  educated,  there  is 
a  strength  of  local  habits  and  attachments,  a  want  of 
cheerful  self-dependence,  a  cherished  physical  deli- 
cacy, a  weakness  of  temperament, — deemed,  and 


i  \\ 


• 


. 


•    I,  f 


:>! 


,1 

I,  I* 


1     i      I 


i 


j  1 

•    1 

lii 

«    r 
■'  ' '' 

i^' 


!  . 


ijii 


322 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


f  r 


falsely  deemed,  in  deference  to  the  pride  of  man, 
essential  to  feminine  grace  and  refinement, — alto- 
gether unfitting  them  for  a  life  which  were  other- 
wise delightful : — the  active  out-of  door  life  in  which 
she  must  share  and  sympathize,  and  the  in  door  oc- 
cupations which  in  England  are  considered  servile; 
for  a  woman  who  cannot  perform  for  herself  and 
others  all  household  offices,  has  no  business  here. 
But  when  I  hear  some  men  declare  that  they  can- 
not endure  to  see  women  eat,  and  others  speak  of 
brilliant  health  and  strength  in  young  girls  as  being 
rude  and  vulgar,  with  various  notions  of  the  same 
kind  too  grossly  absurd  and  perverted  even  for  ridi- 
cule, I  cannot  wonder  at  any  nonsensical  affecta- 
tions I  meet  within  my  own  sex ;  nor  do  otherwise 
than  pity  the  mistakes  and  deficiencies  of  those  who 
are  sagely  brought  up  with  the  one  end  and  aim — 
to  get  married.  As  you  always  used  to  say,  "  Let 
there  be  a  dsmand  for  a  better  article,  and  a  better 
article  will  be  supplied." 

A  woman,  blessed  with  good  health,  a  cheerful 
spirit,  larger  capabilities  of  reflection  and  action, 
some  knowledge  of  herself,  her  own  nature,  and  the 
common  lot  of  humanity,  with  a  plain  understand- 
ing, which  has  been  allowed  to  throw  itself  out  uu- 
warped  by  sickly  fancies  and  prejudices, — such  a 
woman  would  be  as  happy  in  Canada  as  any  where 
in  the  world.  A  weak,  frivolous,  half-educated,  or 
ill-educated  woman  may  be  as  miserable  in  the  heart 
of  London  as  in  the  heart  of  the  forest.  But  there 
her  deficienc\3s  are  not  so  injurious,  and  are  sup« 


!i -r* 


m 


''§M 


EDUCATION. 


3?3 


ill 


plied  to  herself  and  othors  by  the  circumstances  and 
advantages  around  her. 

I  have  heard  (and  seen)  it  laid  down  as  a  princi- 
ple, that  the  purpose — one  purpose  at  least — of 
education  is  to  fit  us  for  the  circumstances  in  which 
we  are  likely  to  be  placed.  I  deny  it  absolutely. 
Even  if  it  could  be  exactly  known  (which  it  cannot) 
what  those  circumstances  may  be,  I  should  still  deny 
it.  Education  has  a  far  higher  object.  I  remember 
to  have  read  of  some  Russian  prince  (was  it  not 
Potemkin  1)  who,  when  he  travelled,  was  preceded 
by  a  gardener,  who  around  his  marquee  scattered 
an  artificial  soil,  and  stuck  into  it  shrubs  and  bou- 
quets of  flowers,  which,  while  assiduously  watered, 
looked  p'^etty  for  twenty-four  hours  perhaps,  then 
withered  or  were  plucked  up.  What  shallow  bar- 
barism to  take  pleasure  in  such  a  mockery  of  a 
garden  !  better  the  wilderness,  better  the  waste  ! 
that  forest,  that  rock  yonder,  with  creeping  weeds 
around  it!  An  education  that  is  to  fit  us  for  cir- 
cumstances, sf^ems  to  me  like  that  Russian  garden. 
-No;  the  true  purpose  of  education  is  to  cherish  and 
unfold  the  seed  of  immortality  already  sown  within 
us  ;  to  develope,  to  their  fullest  extent,  the  capaci- 
ties of  every  kind  with  which  the  God  who  made  us 
has  endowed  us.  Then  we  shall  be  fitted  for  all 
circumstances,  or  know  how  to  fit  circumstances  to 
ourselves.  Fit  us  for  circumstances  !  Base  and 
mechanical !  Why  not  set  up  at  once  a  ^^fahriqiie 
(V education,*^  and  educate  us  by  steam  1  The  hu- 
man soul,  be  it  man's  or  woman's,  is  not,  I  suppose, 
an  empty  bottle,  into  which  you  shall  pour  and  cram 


i 


I  !l 


■  t      ■'  * 


,,.     I       i(; 


i-i^i  :■ 


Mi;,: 


i  i 


'Pi 

til 


«in     I 


ri:: 

if 


y^ifi 


•''.  i.,i 


V'     1      i 

•         i 


324 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


just  what  you  like,  lind  as  yoU  like ;  nor  a  plot  of 
waste  soil,  in  which  you  shall  sow  what  you  like ; 
but  a  divine,  a  living  germ  planted  by  an  almighty 
hand,  which  you  may  indeed  render  morj  or  less 
productive,  or  train  to  this  or  that  form — no  more. 
And  when  you  have  taken  the  oak  sapling,  and 
dwarfed  it,  and  pruned  it,  and  twisted  it,  into  an 
ornament  for  the  jardiniere  in  your  drawing-room, 
much  have  you  gained  truly ;  and  a  pretty  figure 
your  specimen  is  like  to  make  in  the  broad  plain 
and  under  the  free  air  of  heaven  ! 


THE    TALBOT   COUNTRY. 


325 


plot  of 
u  like ; 
mighty 
or  less 
>  more, 
ig,  and 
nto  an 
^-rooin, 
figure 
1  plain 


The  plan  of  travel  I  had  laid  down  for  myself  did 
not  permit  of  my  making  any  long  stay  in  London, 
I  was  anxious  to  push  on  to  the  Talbot  Settlement, 
or,  as  it  is  called  here,  the  Talbot  Country ^  a  name 
not  ill  applied  to  a  vast  tract  of  land  stretching  from 
east  to  west  along  the  jihore  of  Lake  Erie,  and  of 
which  Colonel  Talbot  is  the  sovereign  dc  facto,  if 
not  de  jure — be  it  spoken  without  any  derogation  to 
the  rights  of  our  lord  the  king.  This  immense  set- 
tlement, the  circumstances  to  which  it  owed  its  ex- 
istence, and  the  character  of  the  eccentric  man  who 
founded  it  on  such  principles  as  have  insured  ite 
success  and  prosperity,  altogether  inspired  me  with 
the  strongest  interest  and  curiosity. 

To  the  residence  of  this  "big  chief,"  as  an  Indian 
styled  him — a  solitary  mansion  on  a  cliff  above  Lake 
Erie,  where  he  lived  alone  in  his  glory — was  I  now 
bound,  without  exactly  knowing  what  reception  I 
was  to  meet  there,  for  that  was  a  point  which  the 
despotic  habits  and  eccentricities  of  this  hermit-lord 
of  the  forest  reidereu  a  little  uuublful.  The  reports 
I  had  heard  of  his  singular  manners,  of  his  being  a 
sort  of  woman-hater,  who  had  not  for  thirty  years 
allowed  a  female  to  appear  in  his  sight,  I  had  partly 
discredited,  yet  enough  remained  to  make  me  feel  a 
little  nervous.  However,  my  resolution  was  taken, 
and  the  colonel  had  been  apprized  of  my  intended 
visit,  though  of  his  gracious  acquiescence  I  was  yet 

VOL.  I.  28 


I  I 


\  \ 


226 


SUMMER    RAMDLEI9. 


!   I   : 


I ', 


f     r 


to  learn;  so,  putting  my  trust  in  Providence,  as  here- 
tofore, I  prepared  to  encounter  the  old  buffalo  in  his 
lair. 

From  the  master  of  the  inn  at  London  I  hired  a 
vehicle  and  a  driver  for  eight  dollars.  The  distance 
was  about  thirty  miles;  the  road,  as  my  Irish  inform- 
fint  assured  me,  was  quite  *'  iligant !"  but  hilly,  and 
so  broken  by  the  recent  storms,  that  it  was  thought 
I  could  not  reach  my  destination  before  nightfall, 
and  I  Vfos  advised  to  sleep  at  the  little  town  of  St, 
Thomas,  about  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  on  this  side  of 
Port  Talbot.  However,  I  was  resolute  to  try,  and, 
with  a  pair  of  stout  horses  and  a  willing  driver,  did 
not  despair.  My  conveyance  from  Blandford  had 
been  a  baker's  cart  on  springs ;  but  springs  were  a 
luxury  I  was  in  future  to  dispense  with.  My  pre- 
sent vehicle,  the  best  to  be  procured,  was  a  common 
cart,  with  straw  at  the  bottom ;  in  the  midst  a  seat 
was  suspended  on  straps,  and  furnished  with  a  cush- 
ion, not  of  the  softest.  A  board  nailed  across  the 
front  served  for  the  driver,  a  quiet,  demure-looking 
boy  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  with  a  round  straw  hat  and 
a  fustian  jacket.  Such  was  the  elegant  and  appro- 
pria*3  equipage  in  which  the  "chancellor's  lady,"  as 
they  call  me  here,  paid  her  first  visit  of  state  to  the 
"great  Colonel  Talbot." 

On  leaving  the  town,  we  crossed  the  Thames  on 
a  wooden  bridge,  and  turned  to  the  south  througli  a 
very  beautiful  valley,  with  cultivated  farms  and  ex- 
tensive clearings  on  every  side.  1  was  now  in  the 
Talbot  country,  and  had  the  advantage  of  travelling 
on  part  of  the  road  constructed  under  the  colonel's 


,     ■'H::.. 


it- 


THE    EMIGRANT    BOV. 


327 


direction,  which,  compared  with  those  I  had  recently 
travelled,  was  better  than  tolerable.  While  we  were 
slowly  ascending  an  ennino'  e,  I  took  the  opportu- 
nity of  entering  into  some  discourse  with  my  driver, 
whose  very  demure  and  thoughtful  though  boyish 
face,  and  very  brief  but  pithy  and  intelligent  replies 
to  some  of  ray  questions  on  the  road,  had  excited 
tnj  attention.  Though  perfectly  civil,  and  remark- 
ably self-possessed,  he  was  not  communicative  or 
talkative  ;  I  had  to  pluck  out  the  information  blade 
by  blade,  as  it  were.  And  here  you  have  my  cate- 
chism, with  question  and  response,  word  for  word, 
as  nearly  as  po^^sible. 

"  Were  you  born  in  this  country  t" 

"  No ;  I'm  from  the  old  country." 

*'  From  what  part  of  it  ?" 

*'  From  about  Glasgow,** 

"  What  is  your  name  f 

"Sholto 


»» 


"  Sholto ! — that  is  rather  an  uncommon  name,  is  it 
notl" 

"  I  was  called  Sholto  after  a  son  of  Lord  Douglas. 
My  father  was  Lord  Douglas's  gardener." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  V* 

"  I  came  over  with  my  father  about  five  years 
ago."     (In  1832.) 

*'  How  came  your  father  to  emigrate  V* 

"  My  father  was  one  of  the  commuted  pensioners, 
as  they  call  tliem.*  He  was  an  old  soldier  in  the 
veteran  battalion,  and  he  sold  his  pension  of  five- 

''  Of  the  commuted  pensioners,  and  their  fate  in  Canada, 
r/<ore  will  be  said  hereafter. 


I! 


ii 


328 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


U  'i 


!  :3 


!l        li 


pence  a  day  for  four  years  and  a  grant  of  land,  and 
came  out  here.     Many  did  the  like." 

"  But  if  he  was  gardener  to  Lord  Douglas,  he 
could  not  have  suffered  from  want  ?" 

"  Why,  he  was  not  a  gardener  Mfw  ;  he  was  a 
weaver ;  he  worked  hard  enough  for  us.  I  remem- 
ber often  waking  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and 
seeing  my  father  working  still  at  his  ^.>om,  as  if  he 
would  never  give  over,  while  my  mother  and  all  of 
us  were  asleep." 

"  All  of  us  ! — how  many  of  you  ?** 

"  There  were  six  of  us ;  but  my  eldest  brother 
and  myself  could  do  something." 

"  And  you  all  emigrated  with  your  father  V* 

"  Why,  you  see,  at  last  he  couldn't  get  no  work, 
and  trade  was  dull,  and  we  were  nigh  starving.  1 
remember  I  was  always  hungry  then — always." 

"  And  you  all  came  out  V* 

"  All  but  my  eldest  brother.  When  we  were  on 
the  way  to  the  ship,  he  got  frightened  and  turned 
back,  and  wouldn't  come.  My  poor  mother  cried 
very  much,  and  begged  him  hard.  Now  the  last  we 
hear  of  him  is,  that  he  is  very  badly  off,  and  can't 
get  no  work  at  all." 

"  Is  your  father  yet  alive  V* 

*'  Yes,  he  has  land  up  in  Adelaide." 

"  Is  your  mother  alive  1" 

"  No ;  she  died  of  the  cholera,  coming  over.  You 
see  the  cholera  broke  out  in  the  ship,  and  fifty-three 
people  died,  one  after  t'other,  and  were  thrown  into 
the  sea.  My  mother  died,  and  they  threw  her  into 
the  sea.     And  then  my  little  sister,  only  nine  months 


Id,  and 


was  a 

it,  and 
if  he 
all  of 


THE  EMIGRANT    BOY. 


329 


old,  died,  because  there  was  nobody  to  take  care  of 
her,  and  they  threw  her  into  the  sea — poor  little 
thinfr  !" 

"  Was  it  not  dreadful  to  see  .he  people  dying 
around  you  %  Did  you  not  feel  frightened  for  your- 
self?" 

*'  Well — I  don't  know — one  ijot  used  to  it — it  was 
nothing  but  splash,  splash,  all  day  long — first  one, 
then  anrtther.  There  was  one  Martin  on  board,  I 
remember,  with  a  wife  and  nine  children — one  of 
those  as  sold  his  pension  :  he  had  fought  in  Spain 
with  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  Well,  first  his  wife 
died,  and  they  threw  her  into  the  sea ;  and  then  he 
died,  and  they  threw  him  into  the  sea;  and  then  the 
children,  one  after  t'other,  till  only  two  were  left 
alive  ;  the  eldest,  a  girl  about  thirteen,  who  had 
nursed  them  all,  one  after  another,  and  seen  them 
die — well,  she  died,  and  then  there  was  only  the  lit- 
tle fellow  left. " 

"  And  what  became  of  him  ?" 

"  He  went  back,  as  I  heard,  in  the  same  ship  with 
the  captain." 

**  And  did  you  not  think  sometimes  it  might  be 
your  turn  next  ]" 

"  No — I  didn't ;  and  then  I  was  down  with  the 
fever." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  fever  V* 

"  Why,  you  see,  I  was  looking  at  some  fish  that 
was  going  by  the  ship  in  shoals,  as  they  call  it.  It 
was  very  pretty,  and  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it, 
and  I  stood  watching  over  the  ship's  side  all  day 
long.     It  poured  rain,  and  I  was  wet  through  and 

2S* 


: 


330 


SUMMER    UAMIiLES. 


!ili;y 


through,  and  felt  very  cold,  and  I  went  into  mT 
berth  and  pulled  the  blanket  around  me,  and  fell 
asleep.  After  that  I  had  the  fever  very  bad.  I 
didn't  know  when  we  landed  at  Quebec,  and  after 
that  I  didn't  know  where  we  were  for  five  weeks, 
nor  nothing." 

I  assured  him  that  this  was  only  a  natural  and  ne- 
cessary consequence  of  his  own  conduct,  and  look 
the  opportunity  to  explain  to  him  sonic  of  those 
simple  laws  by  which  he  held  both  health  and  ex- 
istence, to  all  which  ho  listened  with  an  intelligent 
look,  and  thanked  mo  cordially,  adding — 

"  Then  I  wonder  I  didn't  die  !  and  it  was  a  great 
mercy  I  didn't." 

"  I  hope  you  will  live  to  think  so,  and  be  thankful 
to  Heaven.    And  so  you  were  detained  at  Quebec  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  my  father  had  some  money  to  receive  of 
bis  pension,  but  what  with  my  illness  and  the  ex- 
pense of  living,  it  soon  went ;  and  then  he  sold  his 
silver  watch,  and  that  brought  us  on  to  York — that's 
Toronto  now.  And  then  there  was  a  schooner  pro- 
vided by  government  to  take  us  on  board,  and  we 
had  rations  provided,  and  that  brought  us  on  to  Port 
Stanley,  far  below  Port  Talbot ;  and  then  they  puS 
us  ashore,  and  we  had  to  find  our  way,  and  pay  our 
way,  to  Delaware,  where  our  lot  of  land  was;  that 
cost  eight  dollars  ;  and  then  we  had  nothing  left — 
nothing  at  all.  There  were  nine  hundred  emigrants 
encamped  about  Delaware,  no  better  off  than  our- 
selves." 

"  What  did  you  do  then  I     Had  you  not  to  build 
&  house  V 


THE    EMIGRANT    BOV. 


331 


"  No  ;  the  government  Imilt  each  family  a  house, 
that  is  to  say,  a  log-hut,  eighteen  feet  long,  with,  i 
hole  for  the  chimney :  no  glass  iu  the  windows,  and 
empty  of  course  ;  not  a  bit  of  furniture,  not  even  a 
table  or  a  chair." 

"  And  how  did  you  live  '{" 

"  Why,  the  first  year,  my  father  and  us,  we  clear- 
ed a  couple  of  acres,  and  sowed  wheat  enough  foi 
next  year." 

"  But  meantime  you  must  have  existed — and 
without  food  or  money — 1" 

"  O,  why  we  worked  meantime  on  the  roads  and 
got  half  a  dollar  a  day  and  rations." 

"  It  must  have  been  rather  a  hard  life  ?" 

"  Hard  !  yes,  I  believe  it  was ;  why,  many  of 
them  couldn't  stand  it,  no  ways.  Some  died  ;  and 
then  there  were  the  poor  children  and  the  women 
— it  was  very  bad  for  them.  Some  wouldn't  sit 
down  on  their  land  at  all ;  they  lost  all  heart  to  see 
every  where  trees,  and  nothing  beside. 

And  then  they  didn't  know  nothing  of  farming— ■ 
how  should  they  ]  being  soldiers  by  trade.  There 
was  one  Jim  Grey,  of  father's  regiment — he  didn't 
know  how  to  handle  his  axe,  but  he  could  han- 
dle his  gun  well ;  so  he  went  and  shot  deer,  and 
sold  them  to  the  others  ;  but  one  day  we  missed  him, 
and  he  never  came  back  ;  and  we  thought  the  bears 
had  got  him,  or  may  be  he  cleared  off'  to  Michigan 
— there's  no  knowing." 
•'  And  your  father  ?" 

"  O,  he  stuck  to   his  land,  and  he  has  now  five 
acres  cleared  :  and  he's  planted  a  bit  of  a  garden, 


1 

1        1 

if' 

■ .  . . 

I''  ■ 

11 


'vhu  ■ 


232 


SUMMER    RAMBLES. 


and  h(  has  two  covvs  and  a  calf,  and  two  pigs ; 
and  he's  got  his  house  comfortable — and  stopped  up 
the  holes,  and  built  himself  a  chimney." 

"  That's  well ;  but  why  are  you  not  with  them  ?" 

"  O,  he  married  again,  and  he's  got  two  children, 
and  I  didn't  like  my  stepniothei,  because  she  didn't 
use  my  sisters  well,  and  so  I  came  away." 

"  Where  are  your  sisters  now  ]" 

**  Both  out  at  service,  and  they  get  good  wages  ; 
one  gets  four,  and  the  other  gets  five  dollars  a  month. 
Then  I've  a  brother  younger  than  myself,  and  he's 
gone  to  work  with  a  shoemaker  at  London.  But 
the  man  drinks  hard — like  a  great  many  here — and 
I  am  afeard  ray  brother  will  learn  to  drink,  and  that 
frets  me ;  and  he  won't  come  away,  though  I  could 
get  him  a  good  place  any  day — no  want  of  places 
here,  and  good  wages  too." 

*•  What  wages  do  you  receive  ?" 

"  Seven  dollars  a  month  and  my  board.  Next 
month  I  shall  have  eight." 

"  I  hope  you  put  by  some  of  your  wages  V* 

"  Why,  I  bought  a  yoke  of  steers  for  my  father 
last  fall,  as  cost  me  thirty  dollars,  but  they  won't  be 
fit  for  ploughing  these  two  years." 

(I  should  inform  you  perhaps,  that  a  yoke  of 
oxen  fit  for  ploughing  costs  about  eighty  dollars.) 

I  pointed  out  to  him  the  advantages  of  his  present 
situation,  compared  with  what  might  have  been  hie< 
fate  in  the  old  country,  and  urged  him  to  avoid  all 
temptations  to  drink,  which  he  promised. 

"  You  can  read,  I  suppose  1" 

He  hesitated,  and  looked  down.     ''I  can  read  in 


BEAR   HILL. 


33;s 


Fgs; 

up 


in 


the  Testament  a  little.  I  never  had  no  other  book. 
But  this  winter,"  looking  up  brightly, — "I  intend 
to  give  myself  some  schooling.  A  man  who  has 
reading  and  writing,  and  a  pair  of  hands,  and  keeps 
sober,  may  make  a  fortune  here — and  so  will  I, 
with  God's  blessing !" 

Here  he  gave  his  whip  a  very  expressive  flourish. 
We  were  now  near  the  summit  of  a  hill,  which  he 
called  Bear  Hill ;  the  people,  he  said,  gave  it  that 
name  because  of  the  number  of  bears  which  used 
to  be  found  here.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  beau- 
ty and  variety  of  the  timber  trees,  intermingled  with 
the  most  luxuriant  underwood,  and  festooned  with 
the  wild  grape  and  flowering  creepers.  It  was 
some  time,  he  said,  since  a  bear  had  been  shot  in 
these  woods  ;  but  only  last  spring  one  of  his  com- 
rades had  found  a  bear's  cub,  which  he  had  fed  and 
taken  care  of,  and  had  sold  within  the  last  few 
weeks  to  a  travelling  menagerie  of  wild  beasts  for 
five  dollars. 

On  reaching  the  summit  of  this  hill,  I  found  my- 
self on  the  highest  land  I  had  yet  stood  upon  in 
Canada,  with  the  txception  of  Queer  "ton  heights. 
I  stopped  the  horses  and  looked  around,  and  on  eve- 
ry side,  far  and  near,  east,  west,  north,  and  south,  it 
was  all  forest — a  boundless  sea  of  forest,  within 
whose  leafy  recesses  lay  hidden  as  infinite  variety  of 
life  and  movemeni  as  within  the  depths  of  the  ocean  ; 
and  it  reposed  in  the  moontide  so  still  and  so  vast ! 
Here  the  bright  sunshine  rested  on  it  in  floods  of  gol- 
den light ;  tk^rc  cloud-shadows  sped  over  its  bosom, 
just  like  the  effects  I  remember  to  have  seen  on  the 
Atlantic  ;  and  here  and  there  rose  wreaths  of  white 


-  '  r 


3S4 


SUiMMER    RAMBLES. 


..'■■    1 


smoke  from  the  new  clearings,  which,  collected  into 
little  silver  clouds,  and  hung  suspended  in  the  quiet 
air. 

I  gazed  and  meditated  till,  by  a  process  like  that 
of  the  Arabian  sorcerer  of  old,  the  present  fell  like  a 
film  from  my  eyes  :  the  future  was  before  me,  with 
its  towns  and  cities,  fields  of  waving  grain,  green 
lawns  and  villas,  and  churches,  and  temples — turret- 
crowned  :  and  meadows  tracked  by  the  frequent 
footMJath  ;  and  railroads,  with  trains  of  rich  merchan- 
dise steaming  along  : — for  all  this  will  be  !  Will  be  % 
It  is  already  in  the  sight  of  Him  who  hath  ordained 
it,  and  for  whom  there  is  no  past  nor  future  :  though 
I  cannot  behold  it  with  my  bodily  vision,  even  now 
it  is. 

But  is  titat  NOW  better  than  this  present  now  1 
"When  those  forests,  with  all  their  solemn  depth  of 
shade  and  multitudinous  life  have  fallen  beneath  the 
axe — when  the  wolf,  and  bear,  and  deer  are  driven 
from  their  native  coverts,  and  all  this  infinitude  of 
animal  and  vegetable  being  has  made  way  for  rest- 
less, erring,  suffering  humanity,  will  it  then  be  better  1 
Better — I  know  not ;  but  surely  it  will  be  ucll,  and 
right  in  His  eyes  who  has  ordained  that  thus  the 
course  of  things  shall  run.  Those  who  see  nothing 
in  civilized  life  but  its  complicated  cares,  mistakes, 
vanities,  and  miseries,  may  douV>t  this — or  despair. 
For  myself  and  you  too,  my  friend,  we  are  of  those 
who  believe  and  hope ;  who  behold  in  progressive 
civilization,  progressive  happiness,  progressive  ap- 
proximation to  nature  and  to  nature's  God ;  for  are 
we  not  in  His  hands  ?— and  all  that  He  does  is  (rood. 


I 


4 


ST.  THOMAS. 


335 


into 
quiet 


I 


i 


Contemplations  such  as  these  were  in  my  mind 
as  we  descended  the  Hill  of  Bears,  and  proceeded 
iliiough  a  beautiful  plain,  sometimes  richly  wooded, 
sometimes  opening  into  clearings  and  cultivated 
farms,  on  which  were  usually  compact  farm-houses, 
each  flanked  by  a  barn  three  times  as  large  as  the 
lu  use,  till  we  came  on  to  a  place  called  Five  Stakes, 
where  I  found  two  or  three  tidy  cottages,  and  procur- 
ed some  bread  and  milk.  The  road  here  was  no  long- 
er so  good,  and  we  travelled  slowly  and  with  difficulty 
for  some  miles.  About  five  o'clock  we  reached  St. 
Thomas,  one  of  the  prettiest  places  I  had  yet  seen. 
Here  1  found  two  oi  three  inns,  and  at  one  of  them, 
styled  the  "  Mansion  House  Hotel,"  I  ordered  tea  for 
myself"  and  good  entertainment  for  my  young  driver 
and  »rses,  and  then  walked  out. 

£  .  .^loraas  is  situated  on  a  high  eminence,  to 
which  the  ascent  is  rather  abrupt.  The  view  from  it, 
over  a  fertile,  well  settled  country,  is  very  beautiful 
and  cheering.  The  place  bears  the  christian  name 
of  Colonel  Talbot,  who  styles  it  his  capital,  and,  from 
a  combination  of  advantages,  it  is  rising  fast  into  im- 
portance. The  climate,  from  its  high  position,  is  de- 
licit)us  and  healthful;  and  the  winters  in  this  part  of 
the  province  are  milder  by  several  degrees  than  else- 
where. At  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  or  eminence,  runs  a 
deep  rapid  stream,  called  the  Kettle  Creek,*  (I  wish 


♦  When  I  remonstrated  against  this  name  for  so  beautiful  a 
stream,  Colont'l  Talbot  told  me  that  his  first  settlers  had  found  a 
kettle  on  the  bank,  left  by  some  Indians,  and  had  given  the  ri- 
ver, from  this  slight  circumstance,  a  name  which  he  had  not 
ihoujjht  it  worth  while  to  alter. 


?\  '     i 


336 


SUMMER   RAMBLES. 


iii;H-i 


'|-   r'      k 


■ 

■'J;       i 

:l    ■'•     ^ 

■'■  ■•  i .      1 

^ 

M'^\ 


hi 


they  had  given  it  a  prettier  name,)  which,  after  a 
ccarse  of  eight  miles,  and  turning  a  variety  of  saw- 
mills, grist- mills,  &c.,  flows  into  Lake  Erie,  at  Port 
Stanley,  one  of  the  best  harbors  on  this  side  of  the 
lake.     Here  steamboats  and  schooners  land  passen- 
gers and  merchandise,  or  load  with  grain,  flour,  lum- 
ber.    The  roads  are  good  all  round  ;  and  the  Talbot 
road,  carried  directly  through  the  town,  is  the  finest 
in  the  province.    This  road  runs  nearly  parallel  with 
Lake  Erie,  from  thirty  miles   below  Port  Stanley, 
westward  as  far  as  Delawa»'e.    The  population  of  St. 
Thomas  is  at  present  rated  at  seven  hundred,  and  it 
has  doubled  within  two  years.      There    are   three 
churches,  one  of  which  is  very  neat ;  and  three  tav- 
erns.    Two  newspapers  are  published  here,  one  vio- 
lently tory,  the  other  as  violently  radical.     I  found 
several  houses  building,  and  in  those  I  entered  a  gen- 
eral air  of  cheerfulness  and  well-being  very  pleasing 
to  contemplate.     There  is  heie  an  excellent  manu- 
facture of  cabinet  ware  and  furniture  ;  some  articles 
of  the  black  walnut,  a  tree  abounding  here,  appeared 
to  me  more  beautiful  in  color  and  grain  than  the  fin- 
est mahogany  ;  ana  the  elegant  veining  of  the  maple- 
wood  cannot  be  surpassed.     I  wish  they  were  suffi- 
ciently the  fashion  in  England  to  make  the  transport 
worth  while.     Here  I  have  seen  whole  piles,  nay, 
whole  forests  of  sncli  trees,  burning  together. 

I  was  very  much  struck  with  this  beautiful  and 
cheerful  little  town,  more,  I  think,  than  with  any  place 
I  have  yet  seen. 

By  the  time  my  horses  were  refreshed,  it  was  near 


:    't 


THE    TALBOT    ROAD. 


fter  a 
saw- 
Port 
3f  the 
assen- 
lum- 
albot 
finest 
with 
anley, 
lofSt. 
and  it 
three 
e  tav- 
He  vio- 
found 
a  gen- 


seven  o'clock.  The  distance  from  Port  Talbot  is 
about  twelve  milep,  but  hearing  the  road  was  good,  I 
resolved  to  venture.  The  sky  looked  turbulent  and 
stormy,  but  luckily  the  storm  was  moving  one  way 
whiho  1  was  moving  another ;  and,  except  a  little 
sprinkling  from  the  tail  of  a  cloud,  we  escaped  very 
well. 

The  roud  presented  on  either  side  a  succession  of 
farm-houses  and  well-cultivated  farms.  Near  the 
houses  tliere  was  generally  a  patch  of  ground  plant- 
ed with  Indian  <;orn  and  pumpkins,  and  sometimes 
a  few  cabbages  an<i  potatoes.  I  do  not  recollect  to 
liave  seen  one  garden,  or  the  least  attempt  to  culti- 
vate flowers. 

The  goodness  of  the  road  is  owing  to  the  syste- 
matic regulations  of  Colonel  Talbot.  Throughout 
the  whole  **  country"  none  can  obtain  land  without 
first  applying  to  him,  and  the  price  and  conditions 
are  uniform  and  absolute.  The  lands  are  divided 
into  lots  of  two  hundred  acres,  and  to  each  settler 
fifty  acres  are  given  gratis,  and  one  hundred  and 
fifty  at  three  dollars  un  acre.  Each  settler  mast 
clear  and  sow  ten  acres  of  land,  build  a  house,  (a  log- 
Itiut  of  eighteen  feet  in  length,)  and  construct  one 
chain  of  road  in  front  of  his  house,  within  three 
years;  failing  in  this,  ho  forfeits  his  deed. 

Colonel  Talbot  docs  not  like  gentlemen  settlers, 
nor  will  he  have  any  settlements  within  a  certain 
distance  of  his  own  domain.  H»j  never  associates 
with  the  people  except  on  one  grand  occasion,  the 
anniversary  of  the  foundation  of  hie  settlement.  This 
i^  celebrated  at  St.  Thomas  by  a  festive  meeting  of 

VOL.  IV,  29 


338 


SVMMFR    RAMBLES. 


I  ',.•„■  1 


/(.  I 


the  most  respectable  s^sttlers,  and  the  colonel  him- 
self opens  the  ball  with  one  of  the  ladies,  generally 
showing  his  taste  by  selecting  the  youngest  and 
prettiest. 

The  evening  now  began  to  close  in,  night  came 
on,  with  the  stars  and  the  fair  young  moon  in  her 
train.  I  felt  much  fatigued,  and  my  young  driver 
appeared  to  be  out  in  his  reckoning — that  is,  with 
regard  to  distance — for  luckily  he  could  not  miss  the 
way,  there  being  but  one.  I  stepped  a  man  who 
was  trudging  along  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder, 
"How  far  to  Colonel  Talbot's?"  "About  three 
miles  and  a  half."  This  was  encouraging;  but  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards,  on  asking  the  same 
question  of  another,  he  replied,  "  About  seven  miles." 
A  third  informed  me  that  it  was  about  three  miles 
beyond  Major  Burwell's.  The  next  person  I  met 
advised  me  to  put  up  at  "  Waters's,"  and  not  think  of 
going  any  farther  to-night ;  however,  on  arriving  at 
Mr.  Waters's  hotel,  I  was  not  particularly  charmed 
with  the  prospect  of  a  night's  rest  within  its  pre- 
cincts. It  was  a  long-shaped  wcoden  house,  com- 
fortless in  appearance;  a  number  of  men  were  drink- 
ing at  the  bar,  and  sounds  of  revelry  issued  from  the 
open  door.  I  re<|uested  ray  driver  to  proceed,  which 
ho  did  with  all  willingness. 

We  had  travelled  nearly  the  whole  day  through 
open  well-cleared  land,  more  densely  peopled  than 
any  part  of  the  province  I  had  seen  since  I  left  the 
Niagara  district.  Suddenly  we  came  upon  a  thick 
wood,  through  which  the  road  ran  due  west,  in  a 
straight  line.     The  shadovvs  fell  deeper  and  deeper 


'\   ^^^ 


THE    TALBOT    ROAD. 


330 


from  the  depth  of  fo'.iage  on  either  side,  and  I  could 
not  see  a  yard  around,  but  exactly  before  me  the 
last  gleams  of  tvvilight  lingered  where  the  moon  was 
setting.     Once  or  twice  I  was  startled  by  seeing  a 
deer  bound  across  the  path,  his  large  antlers  being 
for  one  instant  defined,  pencilled,  as  it  were,  against 
the  sky,  then  lost.     Thj  darkness  fell  deeper  every 
moment,  the  silence  more  solemn.     The  whip-poor- 
will  began  his  melancholy  cry,  and  an  owl  sent  forth 
a  prolonged  shriek,  which,  if  I  had  not  heard  it  be- 
fore, would  have  frightened  me.     After  a  while  my 
driver  stopped  and  listened,  and  I  could  plainly  hear 
the  tinkling  of  cov.'-Dells.    I  thought  this  a  good  sign, 
till  the  boy  reminded  me  that  it  was  the  custom  of 
the  settlers  to  turn  their  cattle  loose  in  the  summer 
to  seek  their  own  food,  and  that  they  often  strayed 
miles  from  the  clearing. 

We  were  proceeding  ^long  our  dark  path  very 
slowly,  for  fear  of  accidents,  w^hen  I  heard  the  ap- 
proaching tread  of  a  horse,  and  the  welcome  sound 
of  a  man  whistling.  The  boy  hailed  him  with  some 
impatience  in  his  voice,  "  I  say  ! — mister  !  where- 
abouts is  Colonel  Talbot's  i" 

"  The  Colonel's ?  why,  straight  afore  you; — follow 
your  nose,  you  buzzard  !" 

Here  I  interposed.  *'  Be  so  good,  friend,  as  to 
inform  me  how  far  we  are  yet  from  Colonel  Talbot's 
house  ■?" 

"  Who  have  you  got  here  I"  cried  the  man  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  A  lady,  comed  over  the  sea  to  visit  the  Colonel." 

"  Then,"  said  the  man,  approaching  my  carriage 


^'^^Wt 


340 


SUMMCR    RAMBLES. 


W' 


— my  cart,  I  should  say, — with  much  respect,  "  I 
guess  you're  the  lady  that  the  Colonel  has  been  look- 
ing out  for  this  week  past.  Why,  I've  been  three 
iimcs  to  St.  Thomas's  with  the  team  after  you  !" 

"  I'm  very  sorry  you've  had  that  trouble  !" 

"  O  no  trouble  at  all — shall  I  ride  back  and  te)! 
him  you're  coming  ]" 

This  I  declined,  for  the  poor  man  was  evidently 
going  home  to  his  supper. 

To  hear  that  the  formidable  Colonel  was  anxiously 
expecting  me  was  very  encouraging,  and,  from  the 
man's  description,  I  supposed  that  we  were  close  to 
ihe  house.  Not  so ;  the  road,  mocking  my  impa- 
tience, took  so  many  bends,  and  sweeps,  and  wind- 
ings, up  hill  and  down  hill,  that  it  was  an  eternity 
before  we  arrived.  The  Colonel  piques  himself  ex- 
ceedingly on  this  graceful  and  picturesque  approach 
to  his  residence,  and  not  without  reason  ;  but  on  the 
present  occasion  I  could  havs  preferred  a  line  more 
direct  to  the  line  of  beauty.  The  darkness,  which 
concealed  its  charms,  left  me  sensible  only  to  its 
length. 

On  ascending  some  high  ground,  a  group  of  build- 
ings was  dimly  descried.  And  after  oversetting  part 
of  a  snake-fence  before  we  found  an  entrance,  we 
drove  up  to  the  door.  Lights  were  gleaming  in  the 
windows,  and  the  Colonel  sallied  forth  with  prompt 
gallantry  to  receive  me. 

My  welcome  was  not  only  cordial,  but  courtly. 
The  Color,\eJ!.  taking  me  under  his  arm,  and  order- 
ing tht  t\nd  his  horses  to  be  well  taken  care  of, 
ibanded  r:^    'uto  the  hall  or  vestibule,  -where  sacks  of 


i 


PORT    TALBOT. 


311 


t,  "  I 

look- 
three 

I" 


dently 


impa- 
wind- 


wlieat  and  piles  of  sheep-jkins  lay  heaped  in  primi- 
tive fa  hion ;  thence  into  a  rtom,  the  walls  of  which 
were  formed  of  naked  logs.  Here  no  fauteuil, 
spring-cushioned,  extended  its  comfortable  arms — no 
sofa  here  "insidiously  stretched  out  its  lazy  length;" 
Colonel  Talbot  held  all  such  luxuries  in  sovereign 
contempt.  In  front  of  a  capacious  chimney  stood  a 
long  wooden  table,  flanked  with  two  wooden  chairs, 
cut  from  the  forest  in  the  midst  of  which  thoy  now 
stood.  T  J  one  of  these  the  Colonel  handed  me,  with 
the  air  of  a  courtier,  and  took  the  other  himself. 
Like  all  men  who  live  out  of  the  world,  he  retained 
a  lively  curiosity  as  to  what  was  passing  in  it,  and  I 
was  pressed  with  a  profusion  of  questions  as  well  as 
hospitable  attentions  ;  but  wearied,  exhausted,  ach- 
ing in  every  nerve,  the  spirit  with  which  I  had  at 
first  met  him  in  his  own  style,  was  fast  ebbing.  I 
could  neither  .speak  nor  eat,  and  was  soon  dismissed 
to  repose. 

With  courteous  solicitude,  he  ushered  me  himself 
to  the  door  of  a  comfortable,  well  furnished  bed- 
room, where  a  fire  blazed  cheerfi'"iy,  where  female 
hands  had  evidently  presided  to  arrange  my  toilet, 
and  where  female  aid  awaited  me  j — so  much  had 
the  good  Colonel  been  calumniated  ! 


END  OF  VOL.  1. 


